


A(nother) Marriage of Convenience

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Bad Girl Bazine, Badass Rey, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben is 28, Ben is supposed to be having an affair with her, Ben protests, Discussion of an affair, F/M, If an affair is laying his head in her lap while he complains about his Mama, Leia arranges a marriage, Mention of pregnancy, Mother’s and their son’s, Not Ben or Rey, Regency Romp, Rey is 18, Skywalker Family Drama, The falling out, Virgin Ben Solo, Virgin Rey, Who is married, a wedding, but then he meets Rey, his intended, in an historical context, mention of an affair, who is mesmerised by his thick thighs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23341129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ha’penny = a half penny, the second smallest coin - the smallest being the farthingMarquisate = the property and title belonging to a MarquisFollowing the drum = accompanying non-combatant family of a soldierJarvey - the common (at the time) name for a hackney cab driver
Relationships: Dopheld Mitaka/Amilyn Holdo, Poe Dameron & Amilyn Holdo, Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 96
Kudos: 142





	1. A Man and his Mama

**Author's Note:**

> Ha’penny = a half penny, the second smallest coin - the smallest being the farthing
> 
> Marquisate = the property and title belonging to a Marquis
> 
> Following the drum = accompanying non-combatant family of a soldier
> 
> Jarvey - the common (at the time) name for a hackney cab driver

Lord Benjamin Solo, Marquis of Theed, trudged up the staircase to his mother’s private sitting room, mutinous of heart and slothful of step.

He had been summoned to her presence, and her handwritten note had made no secret of her current mood. In short, he was about to have his hair combed.

He knocked lightly upon her door, half hoping she would not hear and then he could be swiftly on his way, duty done. Unfortunately, amongst her other considerable gifts, his mother possessed the ears of a fox. He turned the handle and entered upon hearing her graciously given permission.

She was sitting toasting her toes before a bright fire, the month of October being just around the corner, an open book on her lap. He trod over to her and placed a dutiful kiss upon her upturned cheek, breathing in the scent of the perfume he always associated with her, “Do I find you in health, Mama?”

“Tolerably,” came the cryptic rejoinder. “Please be seated, Benjamin.”

His heart sank; if she was using his Sunday name he definitely wasn’t going to get off lightly.

He sat down and endured some minutes of scrutiny from those dark, doe eyes of hers, trying very hard not to squirm.

“I have decided you must be married,” she pronounced eventually, “and as quickly as possible.”

He let out a snort of derision, “Aside from the fact that that’s not your decision to make, good luck with that, Mama. Your missive made it quite clear I was unfit for polite society - or have you found some simpleton to do the job? Do tell.”

He ought to have known better than to taunt her; she rose to the challenge.

“As a matter of fact I have,” she responded coolly, “not a simpleton, but a decent, well-bred girl who will bring honour to our house.”

He was openly laughing at her now, “Oh, have you now, and she still wants to be married to me, this paragon of virtue to your scapegrace son?”

She remained tranquil before him, “Indeed I have - Sheev Palpatine’s grand-daughter.”

The laughter was wiped from his face. “A tradesman! And how, Mama, does a tradesman’s grand-daughter do honour to our house? The reverse, I would have thought.”

“Nonsense! she replied bracingly, “Palpatine may have made his fortune from trade, but his birth is genteel and therefore unexceptional. His wife, too, was nobly born, though not of the high nobility I will admit, and his son married his equal. No, this girl’s blood is good enough for all but royalty.”

“What,” he scoffed, “a factory girl! Scrambling for lint and suchlike under weaving looms. Scrabbling after every ha’penny to maximise profit. In effect, a scavenger! No, Mama, this is audacious even for you, but even you could not bring this off.”

He rose, preparing to go without ceremony. He got as far as the door when her crisp tones caused him to halt before it.

“Tell me, my son, what will you do for money when your allowance is cut off? How will you be able to indulge your mistress without requisite funds?”

He turned, appalled, “You would not do it, Mama, you could not. I am your son, your only child, you would not humiliate me so.”

“There is a lot I would do to save my son from the censure of the world,” she answered. “There is no scheme I would not consider in order to prevent his permanent ruin and unhappiness.”

“I knew, it,” he exclaimed, walking toward her, “this is about Bazine, is it not? Who’s been telling tales? My Uncle? Curse his moralising, interfering ways!”

He was in quite a passion now, jaw working furiously in a mannerism peculiar to him.

“No, it was not your uncle who told me, rather a dear friend warned me as people are beginning to notice and to whisper about it. If this affair becomes widely known, then, my son, many doors will be closed to you, marquisate or not. Anxious mother’s and jealous husband’s will ensure it.”

“You don’t understand,” he hissed, “how unhappy she has been made, married to a man more than twenty years her senior.”

“Lady Netal was quite content with the arrangement,” his mother responded. 

“Lord Netal was, _is_ ,” she continued, “dotingly fond of his wife. It is her inconstancy at fault here, she not willing to remain loyally at her husband’s side during this, his latest illness. Prior to that she was well content in his company, well satisfied to be his darling.”

He flushed under his mother’s steady gaze, “You don’t understand,” he muttered, throwing himself into his vacated chair and staring moodily into the fire.

“Unfortunately, my son, I understand only too well. Do not make me prove it to you, I beg, as it would be painful to me and humiliating for you. For believe me, let her get but a whiff that I’ve cut your allowance off and you’ll find her ardour quickly cool. Netal always gave her everything her heart desired, and any man who wants to keep her must do the same.”

He flung himself out of his chair, hating his mother for her harsh words and stubbornly denying their merit, for had not Bazine assured him of coldness and neglect in her marriage? No, his mother was managing him, not wanting him to be happy, managing him as she had managed Papa and driven him away, as she now managed Uncle Luke - as she managed everyone!

He’d lounged moodily over to the window. The light was rapidly fading, soon the lamplighters would be out.

As he watched, conflicting emotions stewing in his breast, a hackney carriage drew up and two serving maids tumbled out, hands full of packages - returned from spending their pin money on fripperies, no doubt. Paying off the jarvey on the box with some difficulty, they walked with tripping steps up the stone steps to the front door.

Hux would be furious with them, he mused, momentarily diverted from his own troubles, hearing the distant rap of the door knocker, the sound carried faintly through the window, although he could no longer see them. His lips curled in a wry smile; well, now there were two creatures in worse trouble than he, both girls likely to be dismissed in short order by his mother’s haughty Butler.

His mother’s voice recalled him to his own troubles, “Please sit down, Benjamin.”

He reluctantly walked back to her, taking his time settling into the chair opposite. Childish, he knew, but - as so often - he felt a lack of agency when dealing with his mother. Why, oh, why, had grandfather not foreseen how she’d be and granted him more autonomy?

She regarded him serenely, “Sheev and I are not looking at a long engagement. You will both have a little while to get to know one another though, and then a notice will be sent to The Times.

Miss Palpatine, Reymonda, I should say, is quite agreeable to the match. You may keep your rooms for the moment and will live here when you marry. I will have a suite of rooms prepared against that happy day. Perhaps you would like to honeymoon at Skywalker Hall?”

“Oh,” he couldn’t help his bitter rejoinder, “so I’m to be allowed a choice where I spend my honeymoon, am I? How gracious of you, Mama.”

“My son,” she acknowledged, quite unperturbed.

He looked at her, the usual frustrated feelings welling up inside him, as they always did when she made him bend to her will; such as when she’d blocked his attempts to buy a set of colours and join the army to help repulse _The Terror_ sweeping through Europe.

All Europe had trembled before the new made Emperor’s ambition and sacrificed its sons to halt his remorseless advance, but he had had to kick his heels at home, embarrassed by and resentful of her meddling.

“You are the last Skywalker,” she had told him, and used her influence to block all his attempts - and there had been many - to go fight too. And now she was blocking him from claiming the woman he loved. What sort of creature was he? Not a man, that’s for sure. He glared at her.

She looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Ah, tea-time. Miss Palpatine ought to be home by now and an introduction can be made.”

As if taking his cue, there was a discreet knock at the door and Hux entered, announcing, “Tea is served, my lady.”

“Thank you, Hux,” his mother rose from her seat. “Is Miss Palpatine returned?”

“Returned, ma’am, and ready to eat an _enormous_ amount of cake.”

Before Ben’s amazed eyes, the austere butler gave a grimace which might be interpreted as an indulgent smile, before reverting once more to his usual impassivity.

Well!, Miss Palpatine must be quite something to break through his mother’s butler’s reserve, he thought.

Lady Leia laughed, her laughter too reflecting her butler’s brief, indulgent expression. “Is she really? We’d better hurry then else there’ll be none left. Come, Benjamin.”

At that she trod through the doorway, her Butler holding the door wide for her, and he listlessly followed, glancing briefly at Hux as he passed him by. No, the man’s customary stiff reserve was undisturbed. Clearly, he had been hallucinating.

He never forgot his first impressions of that tea.

Miss Palpatine was found to be a hazel eyed brunette, with pretty pink lips and a perfectly shaped nose which crinkled when she laughed or smiled - which was often. Her skin was golden, her bust small and her waist tiny.

She radiated a lively optimism that had clearly captivated both his mother and her Butler, for Hux did away with the customary footman and served them with his own hands, consigning this individual to stand, unneeded, by the door.

His mother wrapped her arms around Miss Palpatine’s slender form, kissing each cheek and asking, fond indulgence colouring her tone, “Darling, Rey. Did you enjoy your shopping trip, dear?”

Miss Palpatine had. Pointing out virtuously, as his mother released her from her embrace, that she also hadn’t eaten a single pastry while she’d waited on them, even though temptation had been placed directly in front of her.

She was nodding toward the cake stand placed beside her chair and, looking mischievously up at Hux, affirmed, “Not a single crumb passed my lips, my dear Hux, cross my heart and hope to die!”

To Ben’s absolute amazement, the butler’s lips twitched and he bowed slightly in acknowledgement of this fact.

Miss Palpatine’s inquiring gaze was now turned upon him.

In lieu of an introduction, his mother still mistily gazing in fond contemplation of her future daughter, Miss Palpatine trod forward and held out her hand, “Lord Solo, I presume. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

He took hold of her hand, cool in its touch he noted, staring stupidly down at her, his own massive hand engulfing hers. She had freckles scattered over her nose and the apples of her cheeks, he began to memorise them.

A suppressed giggle recalled him to his senses.

“Yes, I am he.” Gah, could he sound any more like a moonling if he tried?

She was speaking again, “I would know you anywhere, I think. You have your mother’s eyes but your father’s look.”

He stole a glance at his mother, for Han Solo’s name was anathema in this house. To his surprise she was listening intently, a rapt look upon her face.

“Yes, he was our saviour on many occasions when we fought in Spain,” she continued, “getting supplies through french lines when we despaired of finding food or replenishing ordnance.”

She was speaking of the Peninsular War, of course, his brain trying to catch up with all the sensations currently assaulting it.

“He had a companion, too, a comrade in arms. Chewie, I think?”

For some reason she was looking at his mother for confirmation, and to his great surprise his mother was nodding, agreeing, “Yes, Charles is his Sunday name, but everyone calls him Chewie.”

He had always been awkward around girls, women, because of his height, his too large nose and ears, his long face with its moles and beauty spots.

It had been one of the things he’d found so attractive about Bazine, she had made it so easy to get to know her; heaping compliments and gentle praise upon him. He didn’t feel gauche and nervous in her presence either, speaking freely to her as she carded through his hair, his head laid in her lap.

Confronted by this bright, shining girl, however, his mother and her Butler beaming approbation upon her in a way they never had upon him, awkward Ben reasserted himself.

“Oh, so you’re a soldier’s brat then.”

Miss Palpatine’s smile did not falter, but it did become fixed. His mother let out a scandalised, _Ben!_. Hux’s expression was nothing short of malevolent.

“That is correct,” interposed Miss Palpatine cheerfully, “I followed the drum, as did my maid and groom. My father was a Colonel in the Guards, and fell at Waterloo leading his squadron of cavalry.”

For some reason she turned to Hux and commented softly, “He died in the company of heroes, and was received with them into the arms of angels.”

This surely was a day of firsts, for Hux whipped out his handkerchief and wiped at his eyes, loudly blowing his nose, and his mother, usually conscious of what was owed her due to her rank, uttered no reproof at this solecism but trod to his side and patted his arm in a most sustaining way.

Then three pairs of eyes fixed themselves upon him. Of the three, Miss Palpatine’s (whom he had directly insulted) were the kindliest.


	2. Miss Palpatine Rides Forth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make browsy = euphemism for sexual intercourse
> 
> Crema Marfil = Spanish marble
> 
> Navvy = labourer
> 
> WARNING: Persons of a nervous disposition should skip this chapter.

They stood there for seconds together, although it felt like hours, then Miss Palpatine - of course it would be she - broke the uncomfortable silence by brightly pronouncing, “Tea, I think.”

At once his Mama and her butler, reminded that the sacred ritual of afternoon tea had not yet been enacted, resumed preparation for their devotions.

Miss Palpatine was duly settled on a sofa beside his Mama, Hux reverently placing the cake stand conveniently at her side as his mother poured out the first libation.

Miss Palpatine took her tea with one sugar and a splash of milk.

She also ate a great deal of cake, subverted from every weakly uttered protestation of - _”No, really, I mustn’t,”_ \- by the sight of yet another piece hovering temptingly over her plate by dint of a cake slice wielded by Mr. Hux. Miss Palpatine, biting her lip and glancing guiltily up at her tempter through her lashes crumbled in her resolve, urged on by his Mama.

It was fascinating watching her. Miss Palpatine, it seemed, could resist everything except temptation!

He, of course, had had to make shift for himself, taking a seat opposite the sofa whereon sat his Mama and Miss Palpatine.

Fortunately, he had not worn his riding dress to keep his appointment with his mother, but was wearing the yellow pantaloons and high gloss hessian boots which were _de rigeur_ for daywear.

The cloth of his pantaloons was cut on the bias to give maximum stretch to the fabric, essential for sportsmen such as himself with their well-developed thigh muscles. Of course, this meant that they also clung snuggly against one’s skin, and his own thighs were particularly broad and muscular.

He had happened to look directly at Miss Palpatine as he settled himself in his chair, parting the tails of his coat before doing so. Why, she was quite pink. No, really, it was most noticeable, even through her tanned skin. He wondered at it, shifting uneasily in his chosen seat, and noticing her eyes widen slightly before they were quickly averted.

He could not for the life of him think what had caused her discomposure, but it was noticeable that she seemed to look at the portrait Great Aunt Augusta whenever she addressed a remark to him, which hung on the wall behind and to the left of him. Perhaps she had some connection with his mother’s deceased aunt? He must make inquiry of her.

Finally, even Miss Palpatine had reached capacity and Hux motioned for the footman to take away the gleanings. The butler himself then left the room but not before bestowing a tender look upon his protégé.

“Well,” said his mother brightly, “if you young people will permit me, I have a letter to write before dinner. I’ve ordered a place set for you, dear.” This remark was addressed to him and spoken with a meaningful look. She then pressed a sustaining clasp to Miss Palpatine’s hands and left them alone.

“Miss Palpatine,” in his nervousness his voice boomed loudly around the room and he immediately moderated it. “Miss Palpatine, I must sincerely apologise to you for my earlier remark. It was crass and does not reflect my heartfelt admiration, nay, my undying gratitude, for those who gave their lives in the service of their country.”

She was gazing at Great Aunt Augusta again as she replied, “And I was just as guilty of crassness, Lord Solo, for I _meant_ to embarrass you in front of Hux and your Mama, whereas you spoke unguardedly and without malice. It is I who must apologise to you.”

Really, she was the sweetest girl, but the distraction afforded by Great Aunt Augusta would not do, “Miss Palpatine, I must ask you a question.” She gave a nervous start and murmured, “So soon?”

Not understanding, he ploughed on, “Miss Palpatine, are you related in any way to my Great Aunt Augusta. I noticed you gazing most intently at her whenever we conversed. Was she perhaps your relation too?”

Before his very eyes she blushed again, a deeper shade of pink this time. Really, it was most attractive against her tanned skin. He must think of ways to make her blush every day. Did she know any other of his relatives? There were portraits of all of them, past and present, in some shape or form throughout the house; he could ask her if she knew any of them too and provoke that lovely blush.

She was speaking, “Lord Solo, I must apologise to you once more. It is only that I find you quite devastatingly attractive that I cannot look at you without blushing, I therefore averted my eyes and contemplated your Great Aunt Augusta instead when I addressed you. Not that I knew she was your great aunt,” she added, “of course, and I am most grateful for enlightenment as to her name and relation to your family.”

He had perked up at her opening words, “Really?” he breathed.

“Yes, really. I’m sure you are used to such attentions from the female sex, but I have never been afflicted before by such fluttering in my breast as I experience when I gaze upon the perfections of your person.”

He perked up further, throwing out his chest a little, “Really!”

Under her muslin fichu, her décolletage rose and fell rapidly, seeming to indicate an exponential increase of fluttering within her breast.

“Lord Solo, I have to tell you, you are a- a specimen! Never before in my life have I been privileged to behold thighs such as you possess, and the effect of sight of them upon my body is, I assure you, most singular.”

Well, here was news! It revived his poor oppressed ego as effectively as if he’d drunk a glass of champagne.

“My dear Miss Palpatine,” he ejaculated, standing and drawing himself to his full height. She simultaneously rose to her feet, ejaculating, “Lord Solo!”

They gazed at each other across his Mama’s front parlour, both temporarily denied the power of speech and movement, apparently.

Of course, it was the self-possessed Miss Palpatine who advanced events.

“Lord Solo,” she began. “Ben,” he interrupted, please, I implore you, address me as Ben.”

She took a deep breath, his eyes were fixed once more on her décolletage, it was heaving most alarmingly. “Lord S- Ben, would you do me a great favour?” “Anything!” he promised rashly. “Would you kiss me? I cannot endure a second longer without having gained knowledge of your lips.”

The rapidity of his thoughts almost overset him, so violently did they jostle for position in his brain, a subsequent trembling afflicting his body as to make his knees go weak.

“Miss Palpatine,” he began. “Rey,” she interrupted him breathlessly, “please address me as Rey, your very own Rey as I hope one day to be - I cannot deny it.”

“My dear Miss Palpatine!” He had crossed the space between them with rapid steps, feeling rather breathless himself. He reached out and took hold of her right hand, which nestled most willingly in his warm clasp, gazing into her eyes, which were green he noted with brown and green flecks in them, and held her gaze as he raised that tiny, precious hand to his lips, daringly turning it over and placing his kiss upon her palm.

She shuddered; she shuddered and looked at him in clear expectation of more.

Did she? Would she? Fearfully, he inched closer and placed a kiss upon her cheek. Lord, the scent of her was intoxicating, her skin soft against his lips. He drew back to see what effect his passionate salute to her cheek had had on her.

She was looking at him most tenderly, “My dear love,” she uttered, “my blessed boy. If we were now married I would, this very minute, make browsy with you.”

He blinked, assimilating her words. Now it was his turn to blush, “Would you, would you really?”

“I would, after first securing the door and drawing the blind, of course,” she assured him.

“Of course,” he echoed, mind reeling.

“Dearest,” she spoke gently, “will you do one more thing for me?” 

Must she ask? “Anything,” was his immediate and ardent response.

“Just lower your head a little, toward me, yes, that’s it,” her hands were cupping his cheeks, fingertips barely brushing his ears. He nervously anticipated her opinion of those hated appendages. If it was all going to go wrong, now would be the time. 

Softly, she breathed her final request, “Now close your eyes, please.”

Obedient to her will, he closed them, and immediately something soft pressed itself against his lips and moved over them in a most intriguing manner. Oh! the sensations _they_ caused to be transmitted throughout his body, indeed, there was no helping it.

His arms curled themselves about Miss Palpatine’s soft body, squishy parts of her pressed against his chest, and a firm but yielding globe also belonging to her was encompassed with one of his hands. He squeezed this globe experimentally and Miss Palpatine gave a groan of pleasure against his lips - he was sure it was of pleasure.

This proved to be a precipitous step, however, for Miss Palpatine withdrew her lips from his - he had quickly deduced it was her lips pressed against his, after all, what else could _they_ be?

He was about to stammer out an apology when Miss Palpatine began to speak, looking up at him with tenderness in her face and a very disturbing expression in her eyes.

“Lord S- Ben,” she began, “I must pause and tell you that I once had occasion to press my hand against a slab of _Crema Marfil_ and found it not nearly as hard as your chest.

I have every intention of resuming kissing you momentarily, with your permission, of course, but wonder, may I explore your upper body with my hands as I do so?”

He graciously assented and she resumed, but not before reciprocating; he may touch, feel, or squeeze, any part of her he wished.

As their lips joined, he found his hands automatically gravitated toward the firm but yielding globes situated on the lower part of her person. It was gratifying to hear the squeak she let out as he indulged his curiosity by squeezing and pressing against them, so that her lower body became married to the thighs which had such a singular effect on her.

In response, Miss Palpatine’s tiny hands dug into certain muscles in his back through the silk of his waistcoat, she having ingeniously put her hands under his tailcoat the better to explore the singular expanse of his chest. She was a most remarkable girl, truly.

As a result of all this squeezing and kneading, and accompanying verbal expressions of mutual ecstasy, a part of him awoke and pressed itself against Miss Palpatine’s stomach. It was a part Uncle Luke had long taught him to be ashamed of. Insisting, the whole of that hideous year he had been put in his sole charge, that he sleep on his back with his hands _outside_ the covers.

For Uncle Luke had prophesied that dire things would happen to him, not least he would go blind, if he touched that appendage which had often ached and strained to be touched daily the whole of his teenage years.

Had it not been for Papa leaving and Mama recalling him, he had thought he would commit murder, for Uncle Luke’s diktat had proven counter-intuitive. Lying on his back in bed ensured a daily erection in spite of his best efforts, and the chill of winter in the draughty garret in which he lay ensured his hands involuntarily searched for a warm place as he slept.

Oh, why oh why, must his dick now, of all times, make its presence felt? Surely, Miss Palpatine would run screaming from the room, or, worse, complain of him to his Mama? He broke the kiss, thrusting Miss Palpatine away and hastily turning his back on her, prepared to rush from this room and this house never to darken its portals again.

“Why, Ben, whatever’s the matter? Did I hurt you?”

The notion that such a tiny creature could cause him physical hurt made him utter a short, barking laugh. That he could disgust her with his grossness, his chaotic mind reminded him, was a certainty. He resumed his flight from the room.

It was then that he discovered that Miss Palpatine, delicate of person, had a grip like a navvy - not that he’d ever been gripped by a navvy, you understand, but as he imagined a navvy _could_ grip if he wished.

Miss Palpatine’s grip halted his precipitous flight.

“Lord S- Ben,” her voice sounded, he noted dimly it was authoritative in its tone, like his mother’s, “I insist you answer me. Did I hurt you?”

He shook his head, aware of tears prickling at the back of his eyes. She moved around his person, blocking his attempt to further turn away. Oh course she would now notice, she _had_ to notice - she did notice.

He had a fine view of her glossy chestnut locks as she stared down at his _protuberance_ and awaited her subsequent expression of hysteria. Except she didn’t, become hysterical that is.

Instead she raised her head, eyes wide and lips parted with ... appreciation? anticipation? lust?

“Lord S- Ben,” she breathed, “is this all for me.”

Mutely, he nodded, not even able to stutter out an apology.

She straightened, a determined, even fierce look upon her face.

“Benjamin Skywalker-Solo, I was going to allow a lapse of time, but I see now that that would be a gross error of judgement. I must immediately fix my interest with you; no other female must be allowed the daily indulgence of your body carnally or otherwise. I am quite adamant in this belief.”

She took a deep, cleansing breath, “Benjamin Skywalker-Solo, will you marry me and reserve the gift of your person with all its many intriguing possibilities for my exclusive use? Further, I must advise you, you will not be allowed to exit this room until I have your answer in the affirmative!”


	3. Lord Solo Rides Out

He immediately accepted her proposal, receiving an absolute corker of a kiss to seal the deal. He was then afflicted by self-doubt. Did she really wish to tie herself to him? He appreciated her kind words, but his looks and form were only _passable_ at best.

Lovingly, she refuted every assertion. His nose was noble. His lips kissable. The moles and beauty spots adorning his face formed constellations for her to draw her fingers across lovingly. Then came the clincher, his ears were adorable and she hoped to see any and all of his features in their _many_ children.

It was her turn to receive a crushing kiss.

They parted shortly after, before going down to dinner, Ben to his childhood room to change his neckcloth, sadly mangled by his betrothed, and Miss Palpatine to have her hair re-dressed by her maid - sadly mangled by him.

His mother received the news of their betrothal ecstatically and began to immediately make plans. A spring wedding, she opined, in town, or, better yet, a June wedding on the Alderaan estate - June being a propitious month for brides. Ben noticed that Miss Palpatine smiled widely at all his mother’s plans, which were copious in their making all throughout dinner, but made no comment - she uttered neither yea nor nay to any of it.

It was only a casual observation and he put no weight to it at all. He found, in later years, it was quite a significant indicator of her mood - as their children found out when they judged Papa and Mama to be quite _gothic_ in their thinking and opinions and (attempted) to ride roughshod over them. This was future time, however.

They parted after the evening tea tray had been cleared, he content to hold both her hands in his and gaze upon her lovingly as he wished her goodnight.

Miss Palpatine, however, obviously intended to start as she meant to go on, and pressed her lovely form and lips against his in full view of his mother. His mother looked on uncertainly, not quite sure how to react to such an uninhibited show of affection under her own roof; an early intimation, perhaps, of a shift in the balance of power regarding her son.

He walked down the deserted lamp lit streets to his bachelor quarters, a waning moon occasionally shining through breaks in the cloud, his low crowned beaver worn at a rakish angle, snug in his many caped greatcoat, and swinging his silver topped malacca cane whilst whistling cheerfully.

In the shadows, darker shadows moved forward, but, seeing that massive form, its shoulders broad, its malacca cane thick, eschewed interrupting its perambulation and drew back, awaiting easier prey.

He was not completely lost to happiness, however, the analytical part of his brain was active and making comparison between Miss Palpatine’s professions of affection and Lady Netal’s.

Miss Palpatine, while clearly enamoured of his body - she had sounded quite masterful when she had told him she wished to _make browsy_ with him, causing a quite delightful shiver to run down his spine - had nevertheless expressed tender care for his inner man, evident in her look and touch and reassuring words.

Lady Netal, although he had considered himself to be intimate with her for at least a month, was cold in her dealings with him he now realised.

True, when he had been particularly overset by his Mama’s strictures, she allowed him to lay his head in her lap and vent, but never had she pressed kisses upon his troubled brow and rejected, even mildly, his Mama’s unfairness, as he was sure Miss Palpatine would. Comparisons were odious, none knew that better than he, but ... clearly, he had copious food for thought.

He allowed his valet to undress him and put him to bed, awaking late and well refreshed, Miss Palpatine having informed him her morning and most of her afternoon would be spent with a hairdresser and a modiste. “For I’m sadly out of fashion,” she had wailed, “and must do you credit before I go about.”

He had looked closely at her clothes then and had to admit she was _a little_ dowdy in her dress, diplomatically not sharing he had at first supposed she was a servant due to its drabness, (for it was Miss Palpatine and her maid he had espied from the window), but had gallantly assured her she could make sackcloth and ashes look glamorous.

This had earned his hand a particularly passionate squeeze, and he was sure, had his Mama not been fondly looking on, his fiancée would have plopped herself onto his lap for a thorough mauling!

He bathed and dressed and sat down to eat his breakfast. On his third cup of coffee, drunk plain black, he began to leaf through his mail.

There was a familiar missive lying amongst his bills and invitations, from a modiste patronised by Lady Netal. He had, in a moment of gratitude at being allowed to place a rare kiss to her cheek, agreed to help her out with her finances from time to time. This had usually taken the form of paying for the occasional gown or hat. Recently, the demands on his purse had become more regular.

Breaking open the wafer that sealed it, he saw that it was indeed a bill for a gown, a rather expensive evening gown. For the first time he wondered if he was being imposed upon, and did a quick calculation of the total sum to date.

Free of his mother’s (sometimes) over-bearing management, he was a careful landowner and landlord, eager to embrace the new technologies and practices to increase the yield of the estate at Theed, and make improvements which would benefit him and tenant alike.

With his eyes now opened, thanks to the beneficence of Miss Palpatine, he now shrewdly calculated that the investment in Lady Netal was not worth the return. He therefore took up pen and paper and with detached ruthlessness wrote a note to the dressmaker, advising her he would no longer clear Lady Netal’s account after payment of this one. While he was at it he wrote a few more notes covering milliners, haberdashers and the like that the lady frequented.

Well satisfied, he passed this correspondence on to his valet to arrange delivery and tottered off to his club, to read the morning paper and catch up on the latest news and gossip. He ate his lunch there too, quite forgetting an assignation arranged days ago with Bazine in her boudoir.

Promptly at six pm, dressed in knee breeches, silk embroidered waistcoat and a tailcoat of exceptional tailoring - needed for someone of his imposing form - his mother’s carriage arrived to convey him to her mansion for dinner. She had written him a note telling him there would be a few other guests, principally some Guards officers who had served under his betrothed’s father.

This carelessly conveyed news aroused conflicting emotions in his breast.

On the one hand, he had the greatest admiration and gratitude for those who had brought to nought Napoleon’s imperial ambitions, whether on land or sea. Indeed, he had often aspired to be one of them. However, all too often, when competing (the best he could) for a personable young lady’s attentions, he had been quickly sidelined by a red or blue coat. It seemed the fair sex were partial to a man in uniform.

Add to that his lumbering, oftentimes awkward presence, and the matchmaking Mama’s knowing the yield of his fortune down to the last sixpence, he must give way to one of these alluring fellows and either retire to the card room and play whist or piquet with elderly peers and dowagers, or sneak out without catching his Mama’s eye.

It was not his fault previous generations had mortgaged or sold off land so he came into the marquisate burdened by debt, or that his mother could transfer funds for his relief but chose not to do so, but as his affairs stood matchmaking Mama’s shrewdly steered their daughters toward more bountiful waters - and if they wore a uniform and came without a tight-fisted, controlling duchess, so much the better.

Perhaps Miss Palpatine might also now succumb? He could not bear it if she did.

He was on the fidget then, by the time his Mama’s carriage arrived, his leg bouncing with nerves as it conveyed him in a slow, stately fashion to his mother’s town mansion.

Hux received him graciously in the hall, even from there he could hear happy chatter and laughter from the downstairs reception room, and benignly relieved him of his silk hat and cane.

Pausing only to adjust the ruffles of his cravat and cuffs and adjust the sleeves of his tailcoat before a pier glass, he followed in Hux’s wake. The butler threw open the doors and announced him, “Lord Theed, ma’am.”

He crossed the threshold and his worse fears were confirmed. Miss Palpatine was sat in a chair, a vision in a green silk evening gown, hair fashionably twisted into a myriad of curls high upon her head, and lounging over the back and by her side two men in Guards uniform who had her whole attention.

His heart plummeted to his evening shoes.


	4. The Green-eyed Monster

As he stood there, mute and unhappy, her head was lowered from where it had been thrown back in laughter and their eyes met.

There then illuminated her face a smile which the passing years proved was reserved only for him, and his heart leaped both with gladness and shame at his doubting.

He saw her brows, which nature had shaped so beautifully, knit slightly and then she was lifting her fan from her lap, unfurling and raising it to her face to cover all but her eyes. Peeping over it, her orbs then sent him such a look that even he, clumsy, gauche Ben Solo understood, and he advanced into the room with his hands reaching out as he neared her.

She too rose, fan cast carelessly behind her onto the seat cushion, and stretched out her own hands in greeting. Tenderly, he placed a kiss on each palm and met her eyes, still so full of that adoring light. He had never been adored before.

“Ben,” her voice had deepened and sounded a little shaky, “Ben, I want you to meet two of my dearest friends, Major Dameron and Lieutenant Mitaka.” She held onto his left hand, winding an arm around his bicep and leaning into his shoulder, the very picture of neediness and against all the conventions of the polite world.

He looked down once more into her eyes, now lit by means of the fire of the emeralds she wore around her neck, and knew himself to be loved. This knowledge softened his suspicious jealousy when he shook Major Dameron’s hand, though he could not dismiss from his mind the charming handsomeness of the man.

Mitaka he harboured no such doubts about. The man was clearly shy and of a retiring nature.

Amongst all the jollity of introduction and greeting, the bright tableau of young people was unaware of the conflicting emotions flitting across Lady Leia’s face - chiefest of which was jealousy. Hux, coming into the salon to announce dinner, saw it and cast a worried glance toward the happy chattering group around Miss Palpatine, concerned for her continuance in the duchess’s good graces.

For himself, Miss Palpatine must always have his unfailing regard. Her father had promoted his young brother, Lucius, on the basis of ability and not birth and fortune, and Miss Palpatine had gathered up Lucius’ wife and child when the young Lieutenant had followed his colonel into death on that remorseless day.

Face impassive, he bowed to his mistress and announced, “Dinner is served, my lady.”

Every expectation was that Major Dameron would lead the duchess into dinner, perversely, however, she called her son from Miss Palpatine’s side instead; Major Dameron gallantly offered his arm to this bereft lady and Lieutenant Mitaka appeared at her other side.

Equilibrium was restored over the soup, and Ben noticed with some relief that the Major and Lieutenant, but principally the Major, interacted with his intended with the easy familiarity of brothers.

Miss Palpatine, he heard, could not set a single stitch of embroidery but could stitch up a wound quite wonderfully. Miss Palpatine was a fine muleteer and shot - indeed, something of a sharpshooter. Miss Palpatine was invaluable to have around when one was on short rations, having not only the ability to make a rabbit strew _par excellence_ , but also to catch and skin the creature to boot.

Ben, sitting opposite at table, laughed and looked inquiry at her. She was the picture of modesty, merely remarking that ‘as a soldier’s brat’ she had had to try her hand at many occupations. There was a twinkle in her eyes as she spoke, however, before she once more dropped them to her plate, so he knew she bore him no resentment for his early jibe.

After dinner they repaired once more to the downstairs reception room and the talk was general until the name of Han Solo was mentioned. Ben shot a quick look at his mother, but apart from a tremor passing over her face she seemed content to hear that name spoken of in her drawing room by strangers, sitting tranquilly by the fire.

Dameron and Mitaka, unaware of Solo’s connection to their hostess, and oblivious to Miss Palpatine’s frowning them down, recounted how that enterprising gentleman had crossed over the Kessel Pass in a fourteen hour unbroken journey, rather than the usual day and a half, bringing much needed supplies for their relief.

“Twelve hours,” interjected Miss Palpatine sharply, “everybody always gets it wrong. It was twelve hours.”

After some discussion, Major Dameron and Lieutenant Mitaka blessed themselves if they didn’t believe Rey had it right and, thankfully, turned the subject, much to Miss Palpatine’s relief.

Miss Palpatine, though giving no outward sign, had, like Lady Leia’s butler, sensed a change in her hostess’s demeanour and wondered at it. Her claiming Ben as escort to dinner had been uttered in quite a sharp tone and she could not miss the possessive note that underpinned it. Miss Palpatine was in quite a puzzle and had a bad feeling about this.

Could her future mother-in-law suddenly be jealous of her? And, if so, why?

The tea tray was brought in and tea poured and drunk. Lady Leia then ordered her carriage to convey the three gentlemen home - the two army gentlemen gracefully bowing their thanks to her.

Despite his best efforts, Ben could not get a word (or a kiss) alone with his beloved, his mother tiresomely keeping him at her side, constantly fussing over trifles such as where was her fan, etc., so he must put himself at her disposal. He did, however, make arrangement to escort her to Garrad’s, the jewellers, the next day, the clasp on her necklace being found to be unreliable and, anyway, the stones could do with being cleaned, and with that he must be satisfied.

The two military gentlemen took touching leave of Hux in the hallway, shaking his hand after he had handed them their hats, his brother having been their beloved brother in arms, and sincerely promised their best efforts - always - in his behalf and Lucius’ widow and child.

Clearly fighting back tears, the butler bowed and thanked them for all they had done already for the young brother he had sacrificed so much to advance, and pledged his daily prayers on their behalf.

Lady Leia seemed, momentarily, to be restored to her former self on beholding this touching scene, but then noticing her son had taken advantage of her distraction to stand by Miss Palpatine and surreptitiously hold her hand, reverted once more into cold politeness - the two army officers oblivious to the jealousy seething in her bosom.

After kissing Lady Leia’s hand, with many grateful thanks for her hospitality, they were joined by Ben and began their journey to their quarters. Having been introduced to them as Lord Theed, his proper title, Ben made known to them his connection to Han Solo.

After their initial delight, they then quickly realised that his parents must be estranged and were profuse in their apologies. Had they but known ...

He quickly soothed their fears but made known his wish to hear more of his absent father’s exploits. Did they box or fence? They did both, and he made arrangements to meet with them at a boxing salon he frequented and then take them for lunch at his club. They most joyfully accepted and they parted with warm handshakes and hopes of future friendship.


	5. Mother’s and their son’s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is mention of a deathbed and a sacred promise made and broken in this chapter.

She had not meant to ever be jealous and possessive of both her husband and son. When her father had been alive all of it had been so much easier to bear: Han’s intransigence over using the ducal title, for instance.

It was mortifying, really it was, a reminder to everyone the inequality of their station in life, the unsuitability of their union, when they were introduced as ‘The Duchess of Alderaan and Mr. Han Solo’ at the fashionable parties and balls they attended - well, at least as many as she could drag him to.

Papa had been most tolerant of Han, laughing away her doubts and fears, her absolute horror at being laughed at behind people’s hands.

“Don’t worry, my girl,” he had drawled, “Han Solo is the man we would all like to be.”

Then when Papa had died it had all got very messy very quickly. She had sent Ben away that year; the year she had tried to save her marriage. Then had come that last, shattering fight, Han flinging himself out of the house, his final words, “Sort yourself out, Princess,” never to be seen again.

She had recalled Ben then, when at last she had been able to drag herself from her bed, exhausted no matter how many hours she hid in sleep.

Her son had become fearful during the time he had spent in her brother’s charge, returning nervous and highly-strung. She had cursed herself for thinking a straight-laced bigot like her brother could be a fit guardian of a sensitive teenager.

And yet, gradually she had made use of Ben’s neediness to tie him firmly to her, quashing that wee, small voice that repeatedly told her she was being selfish, _unmotherly_ , determined her son would never walk out on her as her husband had.

Papa’s last illness had come upon him quickly and taken him just as quickly. Too late, he recalled he had not re-written his will upon Ben’s birth, had not even added a codicil to benefit his only, beloved, grandchild.

Overcome by paroxysms of guilt that had made his final hours hideous, he had gasped out one last wish to his daughter that she must, _must_ , fulfil, as he tried to put right his negligence.

“Promise me, daughter, promise me you will endow the marquisate by means of a trust. I don’t want the boy to struggle to hold it.”

“Yes, Papa, I promise,” she had watched her father sink thankfully back onto his pillows, his conscience eased, and she truly had meant to keep that promise - at the time.

Her father had cleared the mortgages on the Theed estate during his lifetime, but had not developed it or tried to buy back land so foolishly sold at well below market price by past, heedless generations to cover gambling debts and the like.

It had been so easy, therefore, as Ben aged and strove for independence to tie him to her not by affection alone, but by economic necessity.

Content for him to remain single, for the moment, aided by her son’s inability to string two words together in the presence of any female under sixty, she had made sure the matchmaking Mama’s knew of her son’s financial dependence on her.

The discovery of her son’s _affaire_ , as she supposed, with Bazine Netal had shocked her to her core. Never had she thought her romantically inept son capable of pursuing a married woman. Something must be done!

Miss Palpatine had been an answer to a possessive mother’s prayer. Her blood of sufficient probity, but her fortune (as far as she could ascertain) modest, she was the ideal candidate for a marriage of convenience.

Initially, she had liked the girl for her own sake, spending a week with her before introducing her to Ben, but then doubts started to chip away at her peace of mind as the proposed bloodless union escalated into a full-blooded affair - her stolid son being comprehensively kissed before her very eyes an enthusiastic participant.

Every day since then had increased her doubts. Miss Palpatine’s portion (inherited from her mother) proved to be five-thousand pounds a year. Who would have thought it, the girl being so shabbily dressed!

And the jewellery Rey had brought with her, retrieved from her grandfather, why, her own pearls weren’t half so fine - opera length too, worn twice around the girl’s throat and resting on her décolletage as she had laughingly demonstrated.

To cap it all, never had she believed Sheev Palpatine would part with any of his fortune, why, his miserliness, though the least of his sins, was known throughout the land. Yet, entirely sober and being sound of mind, he had settled twenty-thousand pounds a year on the girl.

Leia felt her hold on her life, as embodied in the management of her only son, weakening.

The gathering at her house of the young people confirmed her suspicions. This would be her lot, on the periphery of her son’s life, stuck in this vast mansion with only servants while the young couple formed their own glittering circle.

Well, she was not done yet. The weak link was her son. She would delay, no doubt her famously awkward offspring would, through ineptness, bring the whole thing crashing about his head.

She would delay the sending of notice to The Times. She would cause difficulty in the negotiation of the marriage contract. She would scheme and bring it all to nought.

A wee, small voice spoke to her in the accents of her late father, “Daughter, this is not worthy of you.”

She quashed it and seared her conscience.


	6. The First Skirmish

The next week was one of unalloyed happiness for Ben, though its start was not auspicious.

Arriving at his mother’s house in a hackney carriage, he bounded up the steps and rapped impatiently on the knocker. A senior footman answered and bowed to him, advising his mother was in her private sitting room and Miss Palpatine, in expectation of him, had just gone up to put on her hat and pelisse.

Her Grace requested he step up to her room and await Miss Palpatine there. He nodded and gave the man change of his hat, gloves and cane before bounding up the stairs two at a time.

His Mama was at her writing desk, a richly hued paisley shawl draped across her shoulders. She accepted his salute to her cheek, her fingertips bestowing a brief, tender caress to his own. This immediately had him on the watch, such signs of maternal affection were rare and usually preceded hearing something disagreeable.

She bid him sit by the fire as there was something she wished to say when she had finished her letter. Pre-Miss Palpatine, he would have been obedient to her order, post-Miss Palpatine he was fearless.

“No, Mama, if it’s something disagreeable I wish to know at once, not at your leisure.”

She looked at him and saw his inner resolve. Sighing, she put down her pen on the standish and stood.

“Very well, but I think it disagreeable of _you_ not to wait upon dear Rey.”

She was moving to the fire, taking her usual seat before it. He complied, undoing the buttons on his greatcoat so as to feel its benefit when he escorted his sweetheart to Garrad’s.

He watched her closely as she composed herself. He knew the signs, he was about to hear something which would probably cause him to lose his temper.

“As you know,” she began, “people of our sort don’t just rush into marriage. A contract must be drawn up, settlements made. I’m finding Sheev Palpatine being extraordinarily difficult, not understanding the burden of obligation on such persons as we. Therefore, I think it expedient to delay sending notice of your engagement to the The Times.”

“I knew it,” the words exploded out of his mouth as he jumped up and began to pace. “Wait!” he paused in his pacing, “it has only been two days since we met, how is it Sheev Palpatine is already making difficulties?” His eyes narrowed, “Or is it _you_ who intend to make difficulties, Mama, and if so, to what purpose?”

She flushed, “Really, my son, your tone of voice! This is not how I expect to be spoken to.”

He would have said more, but the door clicked open and his beloved entered, wearing an olive green pelisse trimmed at the collar with sable, the high coffered ruff of her walking dress making a wonderful frame for her face.

She carried a sable muff and her hat was also fur, fashioned rather like a hussar’s shako with a narrow peak. There was black frogging down the front of her pelisse causing her to appear quite military in her look - and very chic.

At any other time he would have expressed deep appreciation for her appearance, finishing off with a smacking kiss. Such was his distraction, he strode over to her, winding a long arm around her waist and pressing a quick kiss to her lips, a mere peck.

“Have you heard this nonsense?” he demanded, raising his head.

“About delaying notice of our engagement to The Times? Yes, I have, at breakfast this morning.”

“And what do you think? Because I know what I think,” he would have flung about and begun to argue with his mother, but Miss Palpatine caught at his sleeve and uttered one soft, compelling word, “Ben.”

He turned back to her and she began to smooth down his abused sleeve, standing close to him and looking up into his face, her wide hazel eyes compelling in their look. His head bent toward her, a great beast leashed and pacified.

Leia felt her heart twist within her, a sensation which felt rather like grief passing through her. If there was a moment to retract, this was it. She watched as Miss Palpatine raised a soft, caressing hand to her son’s cheek, he leaning into it his lips pressing against Miss Palpatine’s inner wrist, and she knew the acrid, bitter taste of jealousy once more.

“Dearest,” Miss Palpatine murmured, “I know it’s not what we want, but perhaps it’s for the best. We can hold off for a little while, get to know one another better.” She lowered her voice, “So you may woo me as my lover.”

“Sweetheart!”

His voice was a deep rasp as he uttered that one word, his arms curling around her form. Her muff dropped from her hands as she melted into him, her own arms encompassing his broad shoulders, receiving a deep, passionate kiss, the first of what promised to be many, except her hat was now in danger of falling off so he was called to order.

They didn’t let go of each other, though, and she turned in his arms to face Leia, one hand resting on his shoulder, the other pressed against his heart. Leia had moved from her chair to stand by the window, unable to look upon them, excluded from their confidences and alienated by their intimacy.

“Very well, Mama,” he spoke firmly but respectfully, “we’ll wait a little while, but I warn you not too long. If I have to, I’ll ride up to Manchester and beard the lion in his den. Marriage contracts? Settlements? Ha, what are these to me!”

This provoked an acid rejoinder, “I would have thought quite significant, my son. Have you forgotten who keeps you solvent?”

It was a low blow. Again she heard that wee, small voice, “That was not worthy of you, daughter.” She quashed it down.

Ben flushed, as humiliated as she intended him to be, arms dropping from around Miss Palpatine, reminded of the financial impotence which had dogged his heels since his majority. A grown man forever tied to his mother’s apron strings, dependent upon her whim for his every endeavour to succeed.

He knew a moment of true despair.

He turned to Miss Palpatine, “You see how it is with me. Perhaps, after all, it’s better you break with me. I am unable to purchase even your wedding ring without my Mama funds me.”

His voice was flat as he spoke these words, his expression pained.

“Hush, love, what need have we of money? Why a brass curtain ring is as good as a gold one.” Miss Palpatine was clasping one of his hands with both of hers.

“You must understand,” she continued, “I am a soldier’s daughter, and as a consequence can make a sixpence go as far as a shilling. Do not lose heart, I implore you, I have sixpences a plenty.”

He looked down at her, her face most earnest, her eyes searching his face with a look of worry in them. “Ben,” she uttered softly and her smile broke through, the one that was his alone, and she took a hold of his face and pressed a kiss to his lips - a long, lingering kiss.

They had no time for Leia then. No interest to hear anything else she had to say. Miss Palpatine’s hat was set to rights, her muff restored to her. She, in turn, buttoned Ben’s coat for him, smoothing down its capes. He then held open the door for her, bowing gracefully from the waist as she passed through, neither of them having a word for his mother.

The door clicked shut behind them, their steps and voices receding, the only sound now in the room the tick of the clock on the mantel shelf and the shifting of the coals in the fire. Leia Skywalker-Solo, Duchess of Alderaan, felt as though her cup was full and overflowing and promptly burst into tears.


	7. Sabouteur

Over the next week Ben went riding in the park with his beloved, and paid morning calls with her on various married army officers of her acquaintance, who were now bemoaning being idle and on half pay but otherwise thriving.

He attended informal dinner parties hosted by these impecunious officers and found them to be joyous affairs. The sense of brotherhood amongst them was very evident, each man having at least once put his life in the hands of his companion - who had not been found wanting.

After the first few of these visits, he bemoaned to Rey his frustration at having been stymied in his attempt to buy colours. Assuring her that he had even tried to join up as a common soldier.

She held his hand and assured him nothing in the past had a hold on them now and, speaking for herself, she was rather glad his Mama had proven so effective in blocking his enlistment, “For you make a rather large target, my darling, and might not have survived. And then where would I now be?”

This thought distracted him and he did not mention it again, but in his heart he grieved for the lost chances to serve.

He enjoyed playing the lover, however, growing quite skilled at finding a quiet corner into which he could whisk Miss Palpatine, and became the hackney cab driver’s friend - the dim interior of these vehicles proving invaluable in privately mauling Miss Palpatine while publicly observing the proprieties.

She would emerge pink and breathless from these vehicles, and not looking nearly as neat as when she had entered it, he grinning wolfishly as he escorted her decorously to his Mama’s front door. Before Hux’s austere gaze, he would kiss her hand chivalrously and then hand her over to the butler’s charge, before striding off whistling merrily and twirling his cane,

He did not meet with his Mama unless summoned to dine with her.

+++

It must not be supposed that Lady Netal was pleased to lose such a valuable source of revenue. Her husband was resolutely declining to fund her sojourn in London, rather sending word directly or through his attorney to return home at once. This she declined to do, eking out her own small inheritance as best she could.

She had fallen in with a rather fast set of people, but they provided her with the gaiety her rather shallow heart craved. However, they had a standard, and to appear in the same gown too many times, or to refurbish the same bonnet just once too often, would incite quite the wrong sort of notice from them.

There must be something new to exclaim over, a spark of jealousy must be ignited in an acknowledged rival’s breast over a newly acquired gown, in order to stay interesting to them. It was a precarious existence, but as long as she could afford to compete in it she would.

It was with an increasing sense of unease and anger that her notes to Ben were not replied to, or even acknowledged. Her last account having been cleared, he simply cut the connection, consigning her daily fragrantly scented notes to the back of the fire unopened and unread. He also neglected to inform Miss Palpatine of the connection.

The scene was set, then, for catastrophe.

It so happened that Ben’s valet was enjoying his half-day holiday, and the landlord who lived in the house where Ben rented his rooms was absent on business, when the courier from Garrad’s arrived to deliver Miss Palpatine’s cleaned and repaired emerald necklace.

Clearly, there had been a misunderstanding, but the courier was not to know that nor was the landlord’s son, a young man in his mid-twenties. Rather he took charge of the package and trudged upstairs to lay it on Ben’s writing desk, before trudging downstairs again.

In a short while, a hackney cab stopped outside and Lady Netal stepped out and paid off the jarvey, who looked disbelievingly at the exact sum he had requested but with no accompanying tip. He then temporarily paused touting for business to pass several loud comments on some folks’ niggardly ways. Lady Netal, impatiently tapping her foot as she waited for the door of Ben’s lodging to open, refused to bandy words with him.

Upon the door opening, the young man’s jaw dropping at the sight of the glamorous beauty before him, the jarvey drove off with a shout and a loud crack of his whip, causing Lady Netal to have to ask the youth to repeat himself.

“His Lordship is out all day, and that’s a fact, and his man, and my dad. And I don’t know when any of ‘em will be back and that’s a fact too.”

Quickly surmising the intellect of the young lad before her, Lady Netal softly entreated to be allowed into Ben’s rooms to wait on him.

“Well, I don’t know about that. My dad told me no one was to come into the house while he wasn’t in it, and that’s a fact.”

Lady Netal didn’t show spleen, rather she bestowed on him a dazzling smile and stepped a little closer, “Of course, and I don’t want to get you into trouble. Just a few minutes then, to write a note saying I called.”

Her tone was caressing, her perfume heady, her smile captivating, the lad capitulated, stepping back and bowing as she stepped over the threshold.

“Thank you,” she breathed, stroking his arm, “I’ll be quick and no-one will be any the wiser.”

He was dazzled, as a rabbit before a stoat. His voice shaky, he pointed to the stairs and conveyed the intelligence of which door led to Ben’s parlour. 

Another smile was bestowed, her gloved hand giving his a conspiratorial squeeze, “Thank you,” she breathed again, tripping elegantly across the hall and up the stairs, leaving him unable to move or breath for minutes together.

She glanced around Ben’s small, cluttered parlour, immediately noting the writing desk and walking over to it to write a note which could not be ignored.

As she seated herself, she noted the package from Garrard’s and had no compunction about opening it.

The emerald necklace was part of a parure comprising necklace, bracelet and earrings. Miss Palpatine had put the whole set in for cleaning and when Bazine opened the large, flat velvet box she was astounded at the beauty of the emeralds, now pristine in their clarity, gazing up at her - causing her to gasp out loud.

Her brain actually stopped working for a moment, and then her lips thinned; so, this was why she had not heard from him. He had broken with her and replaced her with another.

Fleetingly she regretted not pleasuring him, but sex was something she did not enjoy, only to be engaged in if one absolutely had to. Attention was what she craved, and to be surrounded by beautiful things, to have her senses constantly piqued and entertained.

Anyway, Theed was built large and accommodating him was bound to make her uncomfortable. There were women who would relish such a challenge, she was not one of them. There were things, however, she could do to please him, if she could get him back.

She had pulled off a glove and was thoughtfully tapping a nail against her teeth; or make mischief for him so he’d not forget her however many mistresses he mounted in the future.

She closed the box and loosely wrapped it, tucking it into her muff. Now, what other secrets was he keeping from her?

She poked a delicate finger through the various bills, advertisements and invitations which littered the desk. Then her eye fell upon an invitation propped up against the desk’s drawers. She recognised it immediately, for she had one just like it.

Picking it up, she turned it over, Lady Holdo had written a personal message on the back. Bazine’s lips curled back in a snarl, _Rey_ , her rival’s name was Rey.


	8. The Winds of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Latin quote translates. ‘Don’t worry, I have a cunning plan’.

Ben and Miss Palpatine were blissfully unaware of the calamity about to befall them, enjoyment in each other’s company being their chiefest and only concern. They were currently in expectation of a ball to be held at Lady Holdo’s, a friend of Rey’s father and a lifelong friend to her.

Rey was out riding in the park with Ben when they came upon her, sitting in her barouche, Major Dameron and Lieutenant Mitaka drawn up alongside it. 

Major Dameron, seated on a showy chestnut with a flaxen coloured mane and tail, was principally engaged in animated conversation with her; Lieutenant Mitaka, seated on a tall grey, quietly hanging back.

Seeing Lady Holdo engaged with Major Dameron, Rey was preparing to pass, raising her whip to the brim of her black, low crowned beaver hat in acknowledgement and salutation.

Lady Holdo was insistent, however, that they speak, waving a gloved hand at her and calling out, “My dearest Reymonda, a moment, please.” Poe and Dopheld moved off to make room, calling out a cheery, “Good day!”

“Ah, Reymonda, Poe said you were in town. Not of long duration, it seems, otherwise I would scold you for your tardiness in paying me a visit.”

Her eyes took in Ben, “Introduce me, Reymonda, please, to this handsome young man, though I feel I know him already.”

“Certainly, Aunt Amilyn, this is Ben Solo, Marquis of Theed.”

Amilyn was already nodding, before Rey had finished the introduction, “Yes, I can see the resemblance. So, you’re Han Solo’s boy. You have a great look of your father, let me tell you. Your mother’s eyes, but overall the look of your father, scoundrel that he is.”

Rey was laughing at her darling’s squirming in the saddle, unsure of how to respond to this observation. Finally, he managed meekly, “Thank you, ma’am.”

Then his boyish smile broke forth, to devastating effect, “I think,” he added cheekily. 

Lady Holdo sighed, as though in fond remembrance of someone, and then laughed merrily. “Rest easy, young Solo, it was kindly meant.”

She turned her attention back to Rey.

“Poe tells me you are staying with Lady Leia?”

“That’s right,” replied Rey, “although I have given orders to have my parents’ house opened up and refurbished.” Ben’s ears pricked up - this was news.

Lady Holdo was nodding, “I see. Well, look, I’m giving a ball, not a crush, mind you, but enough friends to make hiring musicians worthwhile. And there will be canapés and ices, and punch and champagne. I will send you an invitation, and, of course, one to your young man.”

Rey thanked her, stealing a sly glance at her young man to see him pink cheeked but apparently very pleased at being so designated. Ben gave his direction, and Rey gave a promise to come visit the next day. Then they parted, well pleased to revive a long-standing friendship.

As they rode toward the park gates where their grooms waited, Ben queried her remark about her parents’ house.

“Well, yes, my darling. I anticipate receiving my marching orders any day now.”

“Has Mama been mean to you,” he demanded hotly, his scowl very much in evidence.

“No, no, nothing like that, just a little froideur over the breakfast cups, but it’s obvious she wishes to be shot of me.”

She turned her clear gaze on him, “I do wonder, my angel, really I do, why your Mama wished you to be married in the first place, given her present repudiation of me.”

He coloured at that, and made a mumbling remark that _might_ be interpreted as it being due to the vagaries of mothers.

Miss Palpatine looked at him thoughtfully, but did not pursue the matter, having confidences of her own to keep; principally the assurance from her grandfather’s attorney that no objection or difficulty had been made by Sheev Palpatine.

Indeed, Sheev Palpatine was anxious to have the union ratified as soon as may, then they could make a start on producing a son and heir for him.

Miss Palpatine had winced at such vulgarity, though truth be told she had some wishes of her own regarding carnal knowledge of her sort-of-betrothed.

He really was the most gorgeous specimen and she woke up all of a tither most mornings now, after dreaming about those large, warm hands upon her. Still, all must take its course and she mustn’t precipitate any sort of scandal - not yet, anyway.

No, the fault lay with Leia, who for reasons best known to herself was putting a great deal of effort into reversing what she had once pressed for. Rey let out a sigh, ‘When in doubt, attack’, was the soldier’s maxim. The day was coming when she would carry that out, for she would not - in any circumstance that immediately sprang to mind - give Ben Solo up.

She glanced across at her lover, who was looking at her most sorrowfully, as if to apologise for being so much trouble, his eyes large and soft in their expression, like a puppy dog’s. She transferred her reins to one hand and reached across and briefly held his.

“Nil desperandum,” she quoted, “habeo consilium astutum!”

He frowned momentarily and then began to laugh. Really, she was incorrigible - his girl

They reached the park gates and dismounted, Ben insisting that only he must lift her out of the saddle.

Miss Palpatine retrieved her muff from her groom with a “thank you,” and a gracious smile, handing over her whip to him and leaning upon her beloved’s arm as he flagged down a hackney cab, preparing to sacrifice decorum on the altar of Ben Solo’s pillow soft lips and large, warm hands.

It was Kaydel who reminded her that her emeralds had not been returned by the jeweller, the day before Lady Holdo’s ball.

Kaydel was the second figure Ben had glimpsed that day from his Mama’s window. 

Keeper of her jewels, in fact of everything pertaining to Miss Palpatine, including her confidences, whose companion she had been since they were both eight years old; Colonel Palpatine having brought her home seated on his saddle bow, her father - her only surviving parent - one of the fallen that day.

She had slept with Rey until the nightmare’s faded, wrapped in the arms of the Colonel’s only child. She had become devoted to Miss Palpatine and decided to become her dresser, _not_ her maid, thank you very much, when they both let down their hems and put up their hair.

She had caused a sensation in the Skywalker household, her mistress having had all her clothes made by the same modiste except in (arguably) drabber colours. Where Miss Palpatine’s furs were sable, for instance, Miss Connix’s were of chinchilla.

Mrs. Kanata, lady’s maid to Lady Leia, had tried to patronise Miss Connix; Miss Palpatine and Miss Connix being dressed so very poorly when they first arrived. This was a grave error.

Miss Connix, like her mistress, had been used to career around Europe dressed either as a boy or in a riding habit. Miss Palpatine was not short of revenue but of opportunity to wear finery, and whatever adventure’s Miss Palpatine had undertaken, Miss Connix had undertaken with her.

Mrs Kanata had first started off calling Miss Connix ‘dear child’, now _’strumpet’_ was more likely to be uttered, muttered under Mrs Kanata’s breath as, inexplicably, Mr. Hux had taken a shine to Miss Connix and decreed she was Miss Palpatine’s to reprove.

As all the servants quickly realised this was never going to happen, Miss Connix got away with murder.

Recently, in retaliation of Mrs. Kanata’s latest attempt to have her put in the corner for pert behaviour, Miss Connix had taken the opportunity to loiter by the coal cellar when the weekly delivery was made.

The coal-man’s son was a strapping great fellow, getting on for seven feet tall, with cinnamon coloured leonine hair. He had been a particular favourite of Mrs. Kanata’s who had been trying to fix her interest with him - and might have succeeded but for Miss Connix.

Miss Connix had lifted her petticoats to reveal her ankles, clad alluringly in silk, and made a show of smoothing them out with languorous strokes of her dainty hands. This was done in the presence of the coal-man’s son, who just happened to be coming up the cellar steps at the time and had a ringside seat, so to speak, to admire Miss Connix’s shapely calves and neatly turned ankles. To say he was instantly smitten is understating things.

There had been words said by Mrs. Kanata with regard to Miss Connix’s morals. Miss Connix was unruffled, saying she didn’t keep low company so had no idea what a street walker was. Mrs. Kanata began to screech, causing Mr. Hux to leave his office and deliver a rebuke, bidding her go splash her face with water and not show her face until she was fit company.

“ _Miss Connix,_ ” his voice and demeanour were arctic, “a word in my office, please.”

When Mr. Hux looked like that and spoke like that, heads would roll!

While the servants debated what punishment Mr. Hux would impose, Miss Palpatine’s _companion_ was having her pick of a box of Mr. Hux’s favourite chocolates and regaling him with tales of derring do in the theatre of war undertaken by herself and Miss Palpatine.

When Kaydel brought the absence of her emeralds to Miss Palpatine’s attention, her mistress’s brows drew together briefly, puzzled, “That is strange. Thank you, Connie, I’ll send a note of inquiry to Garrad’s, tomorrow.”

Miss Connix began to brush Miss Palpatine’s hair and no more was said on the subject.


	9. Stop, thief!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is reference to an affair in this chapter which is never acted upon.

Lady Holdo’s home was large, and situated in a fashionable part of London favoured by those in diplomatic or government service; Lady Holdo’s husband had been attached to the diplomatic service at a senior level, that of ambassador, and she was an accomplished hostess.

She was also at something of a crossroads in her life, having been widowed some eighteen months previously.

It had been a good marriage and of fairly long duration, maturing over the years into a warm companionship as Lord Holdo’s career had absorbed him - encompassing as it did the French Revolution and the subsequent rise of Napoleon Bonaparte.

It had been her career too, however, and she had no regrets, each promotion had drawn her farther into the heady and intriguing world of high politics as armies marched and unlikely alliances were made and broken. No, she had been content.

She had been content until about five years ago, when a most disturbing presence had entered her life: Major Poe Dameron.

At first it had just been a light-hearted flirtation, _de rigeur_ for Poe, expected even, but then something had changed; Poe had changed, and she had been forced to confront the possibility that Poe had fallen in love with her, had fallen very deeply in love with her, or so he professed, and was pressing for more than she was prepared to give.

She had wished she could let go, really she had, and take him as her lover, but there was too much to risk, other persons to consider. It had all pressed down upon her and her nerves had given way; she was ill for a little while.

That had decided everything, for Lord Holdo, in spite of a mountain of work pressing in on him, had tenderly nursed her through it, and such latent love and loyalty which lay between them had been reaffirmed. When she had recovered, she sent Poe away.

Meeting Rey and Ben in the park had given her much food for thought. She had seen the attraction which crackled like a bright fire between them, heedless to the risks of giving one’s heart so publicly and completely, high animal spirits at work in the both of them.

For her it was different, it had to be different. There was position and place to consider, and she could not bear the thought of being the butt of jokes; the rich, sober widow of a man of affairs marrying an impecunious cavalry officer twelve years younger. How ridiculous would people think it; how improper would that be?

And then there was Poe’s reputation. She had not expected him to be faithful to his professed passion for her, but it had been painful, at first, to see him set up flirtation after flirtation subsequent to her sending him away. Surely he would have mourned, as she had mourned, even for a little while? It would be unbearable, surely, to surrender herself to him and find him false and herself compromised.

She thought enviously of Rey. Barely a week in Lord Theed’s company, she had heard, and yet within that time had decided to marry him. Indeed, was rattling around London with him trailing devotedly in her wake; being discovered in secluded corners at her friends’ houses boldly kissing him, yet laughing uproariously when discovered with not a shred of shame or self-consciousness.

Oh, to be that young and heedless. To be that unencumbered by the weight of expectation. To be that carefree!

+++

The one hundred and twenty persons, or thereabouts, she had invited to her ball were composed in the main of army and diplomatic persons - with the occasional naval officer thrown in the mix. There was also her god-daughter, Gwendoline Phasma, who had begged an invite for her dear friend Lady Netal.

The invitation had been given last minute, and only with reassurance from Gwendoline that her friend was a proper person to mix with such exalted company. Lady Holdo, with her vast experience behind her, took one look at Bazine and felt her hackles rise - she had been deceived.

Lady Netal was wearing a beautiful ruby red silk dress, cut low at her décolletage, showing off to advantage her white skin and black hair. About her neck, and on her wrist, she was wearing emeralds of such depth and clarity they immediately drew the eye. Lady Holdo’s eyes certainly lingered upon them as Bazine presented her thanks to her, a memory sparking in her mind which, for the moment, proved too elusive to grasp at firmly.

She embraced her god-daughter fondly and returned a civil greeting, but without warmth, to her friend. They then passed on into the ballroom.

Leia, Rey and Ben were amongst the last to arrive, the sets already forming for the country dances, the musicians tuning up their instruments. Lady Holdo was about to give the order to begin when her butler caught her eye. Treading in a stately manner toward her, Jennings announced, _sotto voce_ , that _The Duke_ and his entourage had entered the house.

This was indeed a great honour conferred, and a great favour to herself, that Arthur Wellesley, hero of Waterloo, should deign to grace her poor ball.

She had sent an invitation to him more as a courtesy, scrawling on the back: _As always, Arthur, there’s a warm welcome here should you wish to visit,_ but with no expectation that he would, he now being an important man of affairs. However, it seemed that their friendship, cultivated over many years, was genuine.

Such a cachet it would bestow on the ball’s attendees; why the half pay army officers present could dine out on it for weeks!

The tall duke strolled casually into the ballroom, acknowledging the general curtseying and bowing being made by the assembled company with gracious nods of his head. He trod toward Lady Holdo, effortlessly taking stock of the attractive females present, for he was a man not only of political affairs, his eye lingering momentarily on Lady Netal with appreciation before passing on.

Greetings exchanged with Lady Holdo, and Leia, and several other ladies of note, the duke cast his eye about him, taking in the magnificence of the ballroom and the glittering company assembled.

Seeing some familiar faces he called them over to him, amongst them were Poe and Dopheld. They exchanged pleasantries, stepping back to allow other brother officers to respectfully greet the great man.

It was the duke’s habit, while speaking with perfect attention, to take in his surroundings and focus on such things as being worthy of notice. In short, he possessed a tactician’s eye.

A lavender silk dress captured his attention. His eyes travelled upwards and took note of a rope of translucent pearls which were wound around a long, slim neck then to lie against a pert décolletage. He took note of pretty pink lips and speaking hazel eyes; a pert nose which crinkled adorably when its possessor laughed, and glossy brunette curls, all of which tugged from him a memory. Realisation dawned, “Miss Palpatine!”

All eyes turned in the direction of the duke’s gaze, and watched as he trod with long strides toward a young lady standing next to a very tall gentleman; breaths were held, was this the libidinous duke’s latest flirt?

“My dear Miss Palpatine.” The duke was now in possession of the young lady’s hands, bowing over them and kissing them both with equal fervour.

Miss Palpatine gave her trademark smile, “My lord duke!”

“Arthur, please, Miss Palpatine. I gave you the use of my name many years ago, please use it now.”

A delightful giggle broke from Miss Palpatine’s lips, “An if I do that, my lord duke, most of the company here will draw quite the wrong conclusion!”

“Will they now,” the duke purred. “Well, let ‘em, Miss Palpatine, let ‘em, I say. You’ve grown to be a damn fine woman - damn fine.”

He placed further kisses on her fingertips, having not yet released her hands. A warning growl came from his right flank. He cocked a knowing eye, taking in the sight of Ben, who was torn between possessive jealousy and awe at being in the presence of such an exalted personage. The saviour of all Europe, no less!

“Well, Puss,” he turned his attention back to Miss Palpatine, “and who is this you’ve drawn into your toils.”

“Why this is my fiancé,” Miss Palpatine preserved her innocent mien, “Lord Theed.”

“Theed, eh?” He turned his gaze back on Ben, “Ah, yes, I recall, he frequents Jackson’s boxing salon. He strips well, got the body of a heavyweight.”

Miss Palpatine also turned her gaze on Ben, filled with speculative interest, “Does he now!”

The duke laughed, “I see what you are about, Miss Palpatine. Now I must write and inform von Hafen he is replaced in your affections. He will be broken hearted.”

“Better his heart broken than mine,” was Rey’s saucy rejoinder.

“Ha, so that’s how it is, is it? Heartless, Puss!”

He paused and bethought himself of something else.

“Miss Connix. How does the lovely Miss Connix do?”

“Very well, my lord, and enjoying something of a holiday from mischief.”

He snorted with laughter. “Is she though? I doubt it. Setting all the bucks in London against each other, I’ll be bound. Her and those pretty ankles of hers. Does she still use that trick?”

Rey’s eyes, brimming with laughter, gave him his answer, and he gave his own distinctive bark in return.

There was a discreet cough and both he and Rey turned toward a young aide-de-camp, standing nervously beside them.

“Well, what is it man? Spit it out.”

“It’s just that we are expected elsewhere, my lord.” He coughed discreetly, “Lady Caroline.”

“Oh, ah, yes.” The duke hummed as he brought Lady Caroline to mind.

“My dear Miss Palpatine, duty calls, I’m afraid, but let me give you my direction,” he glanced at the aide who produced an embossed card. “Please come to tea, yourself and Miss Connix. Bring your young fire-eater as chaperone, if you must.”

He gave another distinct bark of laughter and kissed her hands once more, which had been held, much to Ben’s irritation, all this while against his breast. Then he was gone, bowing before Lady Holdo and acknowledging the spontaneous clapping of the assembly with a careless wave of his hand.

A veritable storm of chatter began once he had exited the room, envious and speculative glances being cast Miss Palpatine’s way.

“Well,” remarked Ben possessively, “he may be the saviour of Europe, but I didn’t like at all how he clung onto your hands.”

Rey laughed, crinkling her nose, “Darling, I’ve known him since my cradle, but he flirt’s with every female, regardless.”

“Huh!”

“Oh, come on, sourpuss, I’m far to young - even for him.”

“And that’s another thing, why did he keep calling you Puss? And what has your maid been up to to gain his notice? I’m beginning to doubt she’s a suitable companion for you.”

“Darling she’s my _dresser_ and an eminently suitable person. Come, let’s join a set, otherwise we’ll quarrel.”

Lady Holdo, meanwhile, had given permission for the ball to begin and excited chatter filled the room - dancing giving even more pleasure than a visit from The Duke.

As they walked to the nearest set, Miss Palpatine gave a start of surprise. Ben felt it and queried its cause.

“There! There,” she exclaimed, “that woman is wearing my mother’s emeralds. I would know them anywhere!”

Ben followed her pointing finger and caught sight of Bazine. Blanching, he missed Miss Palpatine pulling her fingers from his suddenly nerveless grasp. He watched with horror as she marched up to Lady Netal, her voice sounding even over the tuning of the musicians instruments, filling the ballroom with its angry tones.

“A word with you, madame. Why are you wearing my mother’s emeralds? Thief!”


	10. Miss Palpatine Strikes Back

Bazine’s chief purpose in attending Lady Holdo’s ball had been to find a new protector, and it was to this end she had brought her considerable powers of persuasion to bear upon Lady Holdo’s god-daughter; cajoling Gwendoline Phasma into getting her an invitation.

Miss Phasma had allowed herself to be persuaded, secretly pleased. Striking as her own looks were she was unfashionably tall, towering over the majority of eligible gentlemen. Keeping company with Lady Netal, with her alluringly exotic looks, ensured she had opportunity to flirt and draw sufficient flattering attention herself to feed her vanity.

Having viewed Bazine’s new gown, she was convinced that the gentlemen would be ten deep around them. Therefore, pressing the invitation, hot off the press, into the hand of Lady Netal she hurried off to bully and cajole her modiste, anxious that her own gown should be ready in time.

As anticipated, the gentlemen clustered around them jockeying for position, particularly with regard to bagging Bazine’s hand for the waltz. However, in this they were confounded by Major Dameron casually walking up, shouldering aside the clamouring throng, and claiming the dance for himself.

He did this by dint of plucking Bazine’s dance card from her fingers, where it had been clasped against her breast to protect it from impertinence, and pencilling in his own name.

If their eyes met in a lingering look, his bold and direct, hers accompanied by a nervous fluttering of her lashes. If his thumb pressed meaningfully against her fingers when he took the card from her causing her to quiver. If his hand clasped hers with a firm pressure as he gave it back making her eyes fly up to meet his, a question in them, these signs of intimacy were generally missed as the gentlemen around them let out a collective groan and raised complaint against his high-handedness.

Two interested persons may have noticed. Lady Holdo, for instance, who marked the dark-haired beauty’s blush against her white skin at Major Dameron’s show of _force majeure_ , or the smouldering look which followed the retreating major which spoke of both desire and want.

Lieutenant Mitaka may have noticed had his eyes not been engaged in observing the initial effect of this interplay on Lady Holdo. The flush on her face which betokened shame, the quick casting down of her eyes to hide their look of desolation, and her too bright smile as she once more engaged with her guests.

His heart went out to her, but he did not, would not, judge his friend. He did believe, however, that Poe did not deserve Lady Holdo’s love and, to a certain extent, was glad she understood Poe’s nature at last - women being his weakness.

His friend had confided to him that he would try for Lady Netal now that Theed had broken with her, as surely he must have or else completely misread Rey’s nature. The arrival of The Duke had been a welcome distraction, therefore, and the subsequent expression of wrath from Miss Palpatine promised fine entertainment.

Rey may have the appearance of a pocket Venus, inside she was a feral wildcat.

Bazine’s initial emotion was not one of shock at being called out as a thief, but surprise at Miss Palpatine’s appearance.

She had deduced from Lady Holdo’s scrawl that Rey was a respectable person - why else would she invite her to an exclusive ball? - but had imagined a very different sort of creature.

Holding Ben in very low esteem herself, fortune apart, she had expected a fubsy-faced spinster foisted on him by his sharp elbowed Mama, not the exquisite lady of quality currently scowling ferociously at her - and the cost of those pearls she was wearing!

Really, it was all too much and she felt a great deal of resentment toward Lord Theed, hovering just behind his fiancée’s shoulder. She scoffed inwardly, as if he’d be of any use.

Then, because at heart she was an adventuress, she faced it out, “My dear Miss Whoever You Are, you are mistaken, they were a gift from an admirer.” All the while she was speaking, she locked eyes with Ben, whose ear lobes turned bright red and who shifted about uneasily, trying to escape her gaze.

Miss Palpatine intercepted this look and turned her fiery gaze upon the hapless Ben, who wilted under it. Her fine brows, sculpted by nature, drew together in a frown - understanding dawned. He saw a brief look of distress cross her features and then her face became mask like.

“I see,” she said shortly, “then perhaps Lord Theed would oblige me by retrieving my property which he so carelessly, _so callously_ , gave away.”

“Rey,” Ben stuttered out, “sweetheart.”

“If I do not receive my own by tomorrow,” Miss Palpatine powered on, “I shall lodge complaint at Bow Street.”

At that she walked away, head held high, followed by Ben bleating pleadingly, “Rey, sweetheart, I beg you, do not break with me. She lies, I assure you. Rey, please.”

He caught up with her in the vast hall of Lady Holdo’s house, as she paused to request her evening cloak be fetched and Lady Leia’s carriage to be ordered.

“Rey, I beg you, listen. She meant nothing to me. Less than nothing!”

“I know not by what means she cajoled my mother’s necklace from you,” Rey’s voice was low and deadly, “but I better have the whole of it in my hands by tomorrow or else!” She looked at him with revulsion, seeming to shudder at the sight of him, and quoted bitterly, “Oh serpent heart, hid with flow’ring face.”

He recoiled, “No, no, Rey, you misunderstand. Why I had more from you than I ever had from her!”

Miss Palpatine’s fists delivered blows with the force of a hammer, he found. He could not judge her with regard to technique, so unexpected were the flurry of blows she landed upon his nose, cheeks and jaw; but as to effectiveness, why she could wear the belt of Lightweight Champion of England!

Through the miasma of pain and blood he heard her voice, much changed from its normal dulcet tones, “If I don’t have what is mine by tomorrow, prepare to be visited!”

There were the sound of quick steps receding from him and then tender hands were laid upon him, a napkin pressed against the fountain that had formerly been his noble nose, “There, there, my lord, sit here. My word, what a fury, and she looking so angelic. Marsters, run to the housekeeper for her keys, please, I can’t seem to staunch the bleeding otherwise.”

It was all so humiliating.

Lady Netal was not permitted to enjoy her ascendency for long. Lady Holdo’s butler, the stately Jennings, materialised at her elbow.

“Madam, would you kindly let me escort you to one of the salon’s?”

She looked about her. All her admirers had slunk away it seemed. Such ladies as there were about her were looking at her most unkindly. As she accompanied Jennings out of the ballroom, she caught sight of a diminutive lady glaring at her. This lady had dark brown hair peppered through with grey, braided, with an exquisite tiara nestling on her head, denoting her rank as peeress.

As her eyes locked with Bazine’s, she quite deliberately turned her back on her, the ladies either side of her immediately following her lead. Bazine forced herself to swallow back a laugh, or was it a sob? A lot of doors would be closed to her now. Why, oh, why had she given in to hubris?

She was seated in a salon which she might have admired any other time. Whoever decorated it obviously had a love of flowers. Some of the chairs were upholstered with embroidered panels depicting them, with cushions to match. Although the parts of the house she had seen were formal, this room seemed a reflection of its owner’s personal taste.

The door clicked open and Gwendoline entered.

“What have you done?” she hissed.

Before Bazine had chance to answer, the door opened admitting Lady Holdo, and the sound of music and gaiety - the ball had begun.

“I will keep this brief. Lady Netal, you are no longer welcome in my house and I bid you leave it, instantly. Gwendoline, words are not sufficient to convey my disappointment in you. Be sure, I will be writing to your father.”

An anguished, “Nooo,” was drawn from Miss Phasma’s lips.

Lady Holdo raised a hand, stifling all opposing argument.

“I have instructed Jennings to order my carriage to convey you both safely home. He awaits you outside. Please leave.”

She stood to one side and after a momentary hesitation, Bazine rose and crossed to her friend. Together they exited the room, heads bowed.

Lady Holdo stood silently for one moment and then crossed to a chair, sinking down onto it and placing her forehead against her hand. Well, what an evening this had been. She would be the talk of London for weeks to come. She gave an unsteady laugh. She must write to Arthur. Arthur would show his support, she needn’t, but she would beg him to.

The door clicked open, interrupting her unsteady thoughts which were jostling each other for prominence. She raised her head from her hand. Poe stood there. Immediately, her hackles rose.

“You are too late, Major Dameron, to escort Lady Netal home, she has already left,” her tone was neutral but icy.

Poe looked taken aback and colour rose in his cheeks.

“You misunderstand, Amilyn, it was you I sought.”

He began to advance upon her.

“Stay right where you are,” her voice had all the clipped authority of a drill sergeant.

“Amilyn,” he began uncertainty, though obedient to her command, “I require explanation as to this change.”

“I need give no explanation,” she replied, “except this; my eyes have been opened this evening as to your character. The doubt which has exercised my mind for some time now is justified, and I see my way clearly at last. I do not forbid you my company, but I do order you to importune me no more or make use of my name.”

He began to bluster, “I do not see what I have done to deserve such treatment.”

She rose and held up a hand, “You misunderstand, I seek no discussion. My mind is made up. Spare me, and yourself, reiteration of the sentiments you have so long professed. I am not interested and I do not believe them, I see now that I never have. You are dismissed.”

He stared at her for one long minute and she held that gaze. At last he blinked and broke it and she rejoiced.

“Lady Holdo,” he executed a bow and turned on his heel, exiting the room with the door closing with a sharp click.

She walked over to a pier glass and checked her appearance. She would allow herself the luxury of a good cry when she was put to bed. Meanwhile, she had guests to whose comforts she must attend - oh, and a letter of complaint she would write to Lord Netal, but that could wait till morning.


	11. Miss Connix Brings Her Guns to Bear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre GHD straighteners, ladies wrapped their curls in rags at night to preserve them and/or used metal tongs heated by the fire to dress their hair.
> 
> I have advanced the development of the derringer pistol by ten years in this fic.
> 
> Being whipped at the cart’s wheel was standard punishment for a soldier grossly derelict in his duty. He was lashed to it, back exposed and whipped with a pre-determined number of blows.

The morning after Lady Holdo’s ball, at about 10am, two young ladies could be seen walking down the street wherein Bazine Netal resided.

Miss Connix tripped along lightly, the heels of her half boots clicking busily against the pavement. Miss Palpatine, elegant in every other way, walked with short, stomping steps, as though about to break into a running charge and attack enemy lines.

They owed their knowledge of Lady Netal’s address to one Mr. Charles Wookie, Miss Connix’s beau-soon-to-be-husband - she had quite determined on it. This gentleman had been paying her early morning calls, unable, it seemed, to face the day without the strength gleaned from Miss Connix’s sustaining kisses.

Cheekily attired in a nightgown and demure robe, her hair wound with rags, mercifully covered by an enchanting lace nightcap, Miss Connix adorned Mr. Wookie’s knee and, in between scorching kisses, elicited from him Bazine’s address - he delivering coals there once a month.

The previous evening had been spent at the Wookie home, her mistress away at Lady Holdo’s ball, at a gathering of the Wookie clan, all tall and bearing an uncanny likeness to each other except, of course, her own Wookie who was the handsomest Wookie of them all.

To her delight, she had discovered they were directly related to Han Solo’s companion, known to her as Chewie, he being uncle to her beau.

It had been a wonderful evening, and she could quite see herself nestling into the bosom of her beau’s family, it being something long longed for, a family of her own. She had been devastated on her return to find her mistress already home and in bed, eyes and the tip of her nose reddened through excessive crying and the blowing of her nose, her nightcap tied very badly.

Upon hearing of Miss Palpatine’s beau’s perfidy with the infamous Bazine, she had comforted her and advised her to waste no more time weeping but to take direct action. “For you know the best advice in this situation, _’Ride to the sound of the guns!’_

Miss Palpatine, like Miss Connix, a military brat, revived at these bracing words, her little face hardening with resolve; but how to bring to bear her heavy cavalry when she lacked knowledge of Lady Netal’s direction? Miss Connix modestly confided she had ways and means of finding out and tucked up her mistress, smoothing down the counterpane and bestowing a comforting kiss upon her forehead.

“Thank you, Connie,” were Rey’s last words as she settled down to sleep.” 

“Goodnight, Scavenger,” replied Miss Connix, blowing out the last candle before softly leaving the room.

Mr. Wookie had proven a fine source of intelligence and was receiving his reward, the re-tying of his neckerchief and a last kiss as they stood before the back door, when Mr. Hux walked in on them.

Mr. Wookie, red-faced with embarrassment - Miss Connix bothered not one whit - nevertheless would have lingered and defended his beloved’s honour. This was found to be unnecessary, Miss Connix pushing him out the door with a roguish smile and, “Don’t worry, dear, Mr. Hux is a perfect darling.”

Had Mr. Hux been a younger man, this observation would have caused Mr, Wookie some concern and jealousy. However, he was not and, claiming one more kiss, he departed.

“Miss Connix,” Mr. Hux spoke primly, lips pressed together repressively, “I must inform you your conduct is most irregular.” He took in Miss Connix’s attire, “In every way possible.”

There was a twinkle in his eye, however, which Miss Connix, a most acute observer, did not fail to spot.

“Why, Mr. Hux, what would you know about my irregular? Perhaps what is irregular in others is my regular.” This was spoken in a most flirtatious manner accompanied by a distinctly saucy look.

Mr. Hux, well versed in the ways of young, giddy maids forbore to bandy words with her and merely remarked, “Get along with you, little miss, before Mrs. Kanata comes down and sets up a screech.”

At this, Miss Connix dimpled delightfully and remarked, “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” and pressed a kiss to Mr. Hux’s cheek as she passed him by, before running out on tiny, unshod feet.

Mr. Hux shook his head ruefully and headed for his pantry, pressing a hand against that spot on his cheek where Miss Connix’s lips had briefly pressed.

They had arrived at the door of Lady Netal’s rented townhouse, Miss Connix rapping the knocker sharply. After some delay, the door opened a crack and Bazine’s maid peered out, taking in the two smartly dressed young ladies. She straightened, opening the door a little wider.

“Her ladyship is not seeing visitors this morning,” she announced grandly, “if you leave your cards, I’ll be sure to take them up.”

Miss Connix, a foot across the threshold and her shoulder against the door, pushed her way in, saying “I assure you, your mistress will see us without introduction.”

The breathless protests of the lady’s maid were overborne, Miss Palpatine now stepping into the narrow hallway and firmly closing the front door and securing it.

“Where is your mistress?” Miss Palpatine’s tone was most peremptory.

The maid hesitated. Both ladies were extremely well-dressed, both wearing furs across the shoulders of their pelisse’s, with fur hats fashioned in the style of a hussar’s shako and carrying large, matching muffs. It wouldn’t do to upset persons such as these. 

Reluctantly, she gave her mistress up.

Miss Connix engaged to subvert the loyalties of Bazine’s maid, while Miss Palpatine trod the stairs to Bazine’s boudoir.

Thankfully, this lady was partially dressed, though without her stays, a robe tied loosely at her waist. She was staring disconsolately into her dressing table mirror when the door clicked open and Miss Palpatine entered.

“Who are you?” she began to say, before giving a start, colour draining from her face as she recognised the much wronged Miss Palpatine.

“Really, Madam, I must protest,” she uttered weakly, drawing her robe tighter around her. “This-this trespass, is not what I’m owed.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” replied Miss Palpatine crisply, “what you are owed is a whipping at the cart’s wheel. Do not obfuscate, I beg, Lady Netal, you have already tried my temper. I assure you, your faux display of gentility at this late stage will not endear you to me. Truly, I know what colours you march under.”

Two bright red spots appeared on Bazine’s high cheekbones but she did not speak.

“I have come,” Miss Palpatine continued, “for what belongs to me, my mother’s jewellery which you have polluted by wearing so brazenly and about which you have lied to possess.” She withdrew a gloved hand from her muff, stretching it out and pronouncing, “Immediately!”

A mulish look crossed lady Netal’s face.

“I find your tone insulting, young woman, and who is to say I obtained them by deceit when all the world knows Lord Theed is my lover. Where is your proof that they _are_ yours?”

Miss Palpatine drew her hand back and let it reside once more in her muff.

“I see. You are determined to test my resolve. Very well, you have brought what happens next upon yourself.”

So speaking, Miss Palpatine drew her right hand from her muff, in it was a small percussion pistol, round handled, short muzzled, and deadly looking. The flintlock was silver and as yet not drawn back.

Lady Netal was on her feet in an instant, her chair tumbling backward as she scrambled to get away. She set up a cry for her maid.

“It will avail you no good,” Miss Palpatine interrupted her, “she is currently in the custody of my dresser, and I take it there are no other servants in the house.”

Lady Netal ceasing to cry out confirmed Miss Palpatine’s speculation.

“What-what do you want?” she asked, her voice warbling with fear.

Miss Palpatine tsked with irritation, “Are you deaf along with all your other faults,” she demanded. “My mother’s parure of emeralds.”

“And then you will leave?”

“And then I will leave,” affirmed Miss Palpatine, wondering what on earth the gentlemen saw in such a ninny hammer as stood before her.

An uncharitable little voice inside her brain whispered the answer to her, and she bit her lip to avoid laughing out loud.

Trembling, Lady Netal inched her way to her dressing table and from a drawer liberated the velvet box which contained the purloined emeralds.

“Open it,” Miss Palpatine’s tone was harsh as evidence of Bazine Netal’s iniquity was now clutched in her hand before her eyes.

The frightened lady complied, showing the full set in all their brilliant glory. She had not worn the earrings simply because her ears were not pierced. One part, at least, had escaped pollution.

She would not bring it to Miss Palpatine, the pistol never wavering in its aim, but stretched out her arm to its furthermost extent to place the box nearer to Miss Palpatine. Miss Palpatine slid her muff up her left arm and reached out and took it, sliding her muff back down - the pistol remaining steady on its target.

“I will not thank you, Lady Netal, for returning to me what is my own. That it is my own Garrad’s can attest to Bow Street,” she observed Lady Netal’s look of chagrin and saw she had guessed right that lady’s intent.

“However, I will give you a warning. You have upset a great many people and I imagine Lord Netal will shortly be receiving report as to his wife’s unseemly behaviour, conducted as it is with brazen publicity. Go home, Lady Netal, while you still in honour can, and do not cross my path again.”

The pistol was tucked away and Miss Palpatine turned and opened the door.

“And Lord Theed,” goaded Bazine, “what of he?”

Miss Palpatine turned, her face tranquil.

“I doubt Lord Theed would touch you with a ten foot barge pole.”

“You seek to wound me, I discern. Bewares I do not write to Lord Netal myself. Even the most complaisant husband will bestir himself when his family honour is polluted by an errant wife. Think on that, Lady Netal, a more profitable occupation for your time, I do assure you.”

After uttering these valedictory words Miss Palpatine turned and walked through the open portal, the door closed with a decisive click, leaving Bazine prey to unquiet thoughts.


	12. Battle Lines are Drawn

Miss Palpatine had to loiter for a few minutes in the narrow hallway, Miss Connix being still engaged in subverting Bazine’s maid.

After some five minutes Miss Connix’s nimble step could be heard, accompanied by a more laggardly one. By the look on the maid’s face, Connie had sowed such seeds of dissatisfaction as to make Miss Lintra’s expression sour.

Miss Lintra had at first thought Miss Connix a Lady of Quality, quite deceived by the cut and quality of her clothes. Upon discovering she was a lady’s maid like herself - _dresser_ interjected Miss Connix sharply - she felt herself very ill-used by her current mistress. Why, she had not received one tenth of the gifts in recompense for her services as Miss Palpatine’s _dresser_ had, and such as she had received she now perceived were of a very inferior sort.

Unburdening her soul to Miss Connix, she begged that if any of Miss Palpatine’s friends or relations required her services she was available at an hour’s notice. Now armed with some very interesting insights into how matters stood between Ben and Lady Netal, Connie, whose ears like Lady Leia’s had foxlike acuity, heard her mistress’s unmistakable tread on the stair and brought the conversation to a close.

Both girls were glad to be back in the street, the sharp October breeze blowing down it notwithstanding, the scent of Lady Netal’s heavy perfume had hung a doleful fug throughout the house.

Walking to where a hackney cab rank stood they hailed one. Safely ensconced in the musty dimness of the cab’s interior, Miss Connix began to unburden herself in the relation of all she had discovered that morning. All too soon, however, they were deposited at Miss Palpatine’s attorney’s office and her sensational utterances must be paused.

They were greeted with a flattering amount of obsequiousness and Miss Palpatine was bowed into the office of the senior partner, while Connie refined and added to the art of flirtation amongst the hapless junior clerks, remaining true to Mr. Wookie though by _not_ showing off her ankles.

Her business concluded, and the emeralds safely secured in Lor San Tekka’s safe, Miss Connix was called to order and both ladies inspected the samples of wallpaper and swatches of curtain and upholstery material laid out for them in a tiny side office. A happy hour followed and the genesis of Rey’s London home was begun. (Like Lady Holdo, Miss Palpatine had an inordinate love of flowers. Unlike Lady Holdo, she was not able to set a single straight stitch of embroidery and do the job herself).

They were escorted to a waiting cab, Lor San Tekka actually standing at the threshold of his office to wish them goodbye - a mark of great condescension - and bon appétit, Miss Palpatine having confided that they were off to partake of luncheon at the Pulteney. The attorney had been invited to join them but, alas, his stomach was of a dyspeptic disposition and the invitation was courteously and comprehensively declined.

Alighting at the Pulteney, one of London’s most exclusive hotels, Miss Palpatine had her card taken to the manager, a retired veteran of her father’s.

They attracted a great deal of attention, to which Miss Palpatine was oblivious and Miss Connix depressed with glacially reproving glances. Such idlers as were passing through the hotel’s reception veered away from before her excoriating looks.

A bustle occurred and out of his office hurried the Pulteney’s manager, his minions in his wake, exclaiming over the change in Miss Palpatine - it being the longest while since he’d seen her. Miss Palpatine, ever the egalitarian, greeted him affectionately, to the amazement of his staff, and graciously permitted him to kiss her gloved hand and convey his condolences over the passing of her father.

Miss Connix provoked a quite different response in him, “How now, minx,” was a close approximation of his sentiments upon seeing her. Miss Connix flashed him a wide smile and modestly thanked him for his acknowledgement of her incorrigible nature.

Upon Miss Palpatine’s confiding that they were both famished, orders were rapped out and an accompanying cavalcade escorted both ladies to a nook in the dining room where they could eat and converse unseen and unmolested.

Miss Palpatine, tall and striking and wearing rich sables, drew many curious and admiring glances. A low murmur started up as she trod across the dining room floor: ‘Was she perhaps the visiting Empress of all the Russians? A queen at least, surely?’.

Seated and served, both sipping a reviving glass of champagne, Miss Connix revealed the whole of her conversation with Miss Lintra.

The upshot, they both agreed, Lady Netal was a conniving harpy who had imposed herself upon Ben, a poor innocent abroad, and her dear Rey must forgive him immediately and firmly set his feet on the path of righteousness via honourable marriage.

“The problem is,” confided Rey, “his Mama by tying him to her apron strings has made him weak in character. Tell me, Connie, do I have the resolve for two?”

Miss Palpatine bit at her bottom lip and then took a fortifying sip of champagne.

“My dear friend,” observed Miss Connix, “would you need to? You would be his wife, not his mother. He must learn to hold the line, as it were.”

Miss Palpatine, taking another large gulp of sparkling wine, perfectly understood Miss Connix’s allusion, having her whole life watched drill and manoeuvres which prepared men to hold position against an enemy’s best efforts to dislodge them.

Miss Connix helpfully refilled her friend’s glass and continued, “He seems to do very well when separated from his Mama by distance. I heard he has done great things at Theed in spite of his Mama’s refusal to finance him.”

Miss Palpatine began to sigh sentimentally over her beloved’s trials and tribulations to the extent Miss Connix edged her wineglass a little further from her grasp.

“Connie,” Miss Palpatine’s voice was resolute, “we need a plan.”

Miss Connix agreed, and their two heads were pressed together as they plotted to liberate Miss Palpatine’s beau from his Mama’s too fond clutches.

They arrived back at Lady Leia’s house late afternoon to be met by a troubled looking Hux, the bearer of an urgent message; Lady Leia requested Miss Palpatine come to her private sitting room as soon as she return. Rey and Connie exchanged meaningful glances and Rey complied, not pausing to remove her hat or pelisse.

“Ah, Miss Palpatine, at last,” was Lady Leia’s greeting, uttered in a peevish tone. Rey took note.

“Miss Palpatine,” Lady Leia seemed nervous in her perambulation about the room, Rey standing perfectly easy, “I must trouble you to inquire how much longer you will be staying with us.”

Miss Palpatine’s lips formed an _’Oh’_ of understanding, but she remained silent, determined not to make this easy on her hostess.

Lady Leia’s colour rose, a deep blush on her cheeks, and her hands moved nervously, “It is only that I am in daily expectation of visitors and need your room.”

Miss Palpatine quirked an eyebrow.

Lady Leia’s agitation increased - her London house was, in fact, a mansion of considerable capacity. It was self-evident, therefore, she was uttering a blatant untruth.

“I infer, ma’am, that you wish me gone?” Miss Palpatine’s tone was even.

If possible, Lady Leia’s colour deepened, but now she had an in.

“Miss Palpatine, I cannot convey to you the mortification I felt when you _accosted_ in such an uncivilised manner Lady Netal, so publicly, over some trumpery jewels.”

Rey’s jaw tightened, “My mother’s trumpery jewellery, ma’am.”

Heedless, Leia pressed on, “What proof had you that they were your mother’s? No, you presumed much and displayed manners not fit for polite society.”

“That they were my mother’s I knew without doubt,” replied Rey, “and have recently come from Lady Netal’s residence where she was glad to return them to me.”

Leia ignored this interjection, “And why would you think for a single minute that somehow Lady Netal had gotten hold of your emeralds when they resided in the care of Garrad’s?”

“I think you know that, ma’am, though you choose not to acknowledge it. The whole world has supposed Lord Theed to be Bazine Netal’s lover this past month at least. Tell me, ma’am, were you aware?”

“Really,” gasped out Leia, “Miss Palpatine, your speech! Only too well have I realised you would be unfit to occupy such an exalted position of Duchess of Alderaan.”

There, the gauntlet had been thrown down.

“Well,” said Rey heatedly, “if it involves emasculating the dukes of Alderaan and their sons, I am inclined to agree with you.”

“Miss Palpatine!”

“Further, I will marry Ben Solo, and I’ll do it in the teeth of opposition if I must. And I can promise you this, I’ll be his wife and not his mother - or should I say _smotherer!_ ”

At that Miss Palpatine turned on her heel and walked out, slamming the door behind her.

Leia stood there, shaken. Well, she had achieved her ends and got rid of Miss Palpatine, though now shattered by the encounter. It remained only to win her son back. If only she could get him to Alderaan and keep him there.

Miss Palpatine’s words had stung, however. She had been acquainted with Han and Chewie, what had been said, what confidences had been exchanged?

She mentally shook herself. No good brooding over that now, she must secure Ben’s person and keep him close and out of Miss Palpatine’s clutches.

She trod to the bell to summon Hux and ask for tea to be served. Although determined to concentrate on the matter in hand, she could not help but search her mind for the judgement of that wee, small voice. It was silent. Somehow, that was worse.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might not be what you want, but it happened anyway. I apologise, but I couldn’t write anything else until it was done.

Arthur was a brick, as always. She didn’t need to write him, but rather a handwritten note headed with the ducal arms was lying on her breakfast tray the next morning, inviting her to drive with him in the park. She scribbled a reply and at 10.30 prompt descended the steps of her house to sit beside him in his barouche, here the ducal arms were emblazoned ostentatiously upon its doors.

Knowing the ways of the world as he did, he made no reference to what he may or may not have heard, but rather was pro-active in having courtesies paid to his companion by such well-connected persons as his gimlet eye alighted upon. He thereby made it clear that to wound Amilyn was to wound him - disastrous for any hostess who wished for the cachet of his presence at her dinners, parties, or balls.

Amongst those paying their compliments were Poe and Dopheld. Poe bowing a little stiffly from the saddle and then hanging back. Dopheld, however, pressed his tall grey horse close to the carriage and cast one searching glance at Amilyn before engaging in brief conversation with the duke, whom he treated with respect but without the breathless awe most persons displayed when in proximity to Europe’s Saviour.

As they moved off, the duke laconically remarked, “You know, Amilyn, you could do worse but I doubt you could do better by hitching yourself to that boy.”

Amilyn, making an assumption, replied, “I doubt I could hold Major Dameron’s undivided attention for more than two minutes together, no matter how much he avowed otherwise.”

“What, Poe?” Arthur barked out his customary laugh. “No, indeed, trumpery fellow. Totally unreliable in his ways with the ladies. A fine soldier, brave as you could wish, but not marriage material. Oh, no,” his barking laugh rang out again, drawing people’s attention to The Nation’s Hero and his elegant companion, “I meant the other fellow, Dopheld.”

“Dopheld?” Amilyn’s voice faltered. “I do assure you, Arthur, Dopheld has never expressed the smallest interest in me in that regard.”

Coasting over the inference in her observation that Major Dameron had expressed an interest her, the duke replied, “That’s because he was an impecunious cavalry officer, my dear.” He added thoughtfully, “Mind you, the same could be said of Dameron.”

Amilyn flushed. Just how much did Arthur know?

“He’s come into the earldom, you know. Against all odds, mind you. He’s put in his papers and will be a civilian soon enough and on the hunt for a wife. As I said, you could do worse, but you’d be pushed to do better.”

“Arthur, really!”

“All I’m saying is, don’t reject the fellow out of hand when he comes calling - and he will come calling.”

Amilyn had recovered some of her composure, “Really, Arthur, I had no idea you liked to play Cupid.”

“Ah-ha, you’ve no idea of my many talents, my dear,” he grinned at her wickedly, “being a straight-laced kind of gal!”

“And for that I daily give thanks,” retorted Amilyn primly.

His laugh rang out at this and fierce, competitive jealousy ignited in the hearts of the society hostesses also taking the air under a weak October sun who heard it, furiously waggling their gloved fingers in vain to catch his notice, regarding enviously the intimacy evident between the two.

Not many females could hold the duke’s attention _in conversation_ for minutes together, his head lowered confidentially toward her. Clearly, Lady Holdo was a person to be courted and made much of.

So it was that it was conveniently forgotten that Lady Holdo chose to invite quite unsuitable persons to her house to mix with blue-blooded nobility. However, a scapegoat must be found and take all the blame.

As the Duchess of Alderaan was respected and Sheev Palpatine feared, the full weight of opprobrium would fall upon the soft, white shoulders of Bazine Netal.

Two days later, Jennings ushered into Amilyn’s private sitting room Lieutenant Mitaka, made lately Earl of Gower. Arthur’s words had never been far from her waking mind since that day in the park, and now, in Dopheld’s presence, Amilyn felt herself flush and her heart begin to flutter and beat unsteadily.

Taking in deep, calming breaths, she rose from her chair and welcomed the newly belted earl into her home, extending her hand to receive his kiss and flushing further under the pressure of his lips - somehow his courtesy now seemed to hold greater significance. Damn Arthur and his mischief making!

They conversed easily, Amilyn being sure to steer the conversation along safe channels and with her new awareness taking in the air of melancholy which hung about Dopheld, who was wearing a black armband about one sleeve of his coat. She noted too the dark shadows beneath his eyes and, foolishly, made the error of looking directly into those dark, almost black, orbs. They held a most disturbing expression. She lowered hers immediately.

Alas, the damage was done, Dopheld was on one knee beside her chair, her hands in his possession in a warm, reassuring clasp. A question was asked of her, preceded by assurances that she alone had held his heart within her hands for the longest while and he would be the happiest man alive if her answer was yes.

She raised her own treacherous orbs to once more look into his, prepared to do all gently as her answer was no, truly it was, but there was a look in his eyes she’d seen in her dead husband’s the day he took her as his bride. A look repeated again and again throughout their years together, most particularly during those months when she’d felt so low and conflicted in the face of Poe’s ardency.

It was a look that bespoke devotion.

She recalled to mind the lines of a poem:

_The ring, so worn as you behold,  
So thin, so pale, is yet of gold,  
The passion such it was to prove -  
Worn with life’s care  
Love yet was love._

No matter life’s cares, it’s griefs and challenges, Dopheld’s love would be of the enduring sort, more enduring even than the gold of a wedding band, as had been her late husband’s - so she said yes.

Then Dopheld was rising, pulling her from her chair to clasp her to his bosom and she was soundly kissed. His arms were strong, she noted, his body solid against hers. Of course, cavalry, the thought flitted through her mind, the one word a perfect explanation her consciousness acknowledged.

He could not leave the estate in Wales unattended any longer, he told her, would she marry him as soon as he could acquire a special license? She said yes.

They must travel practically from the church door. Did she mind? She said no, she didn’t mind.

The questions came thick and fast, her answers mostly in the affirmative except when a negative was required. She was sat on Dopheld’s knee by this time, his arms wound comfortably around her.

It came about, then, that two days later she was married at fashionable St George’s chapel, given away by Arthur with Lady Leia her Matron of Honour.

The witnesses were numerous: every Guards officer from her husband’s regiment currently kicking their heels in London all dressed in their regimentals.

She exited the church passing under an archway of drawn sabres, a blur of red and bright steel, before taking the whole company back to her home for a sumptuous wedding breakfast and copious amounts of champagne.

Arthur was in rollicking good humour, the house seemed redolent with it, ringing with laughter. Arthur did what he did best - be the centre of adoring attention; the wives and sweethearts of the officers present hung onto his every word, casting him admiring glances and cooing their expressions of awe.

She spent a minute privately with Lady Leia, who confessed herself happy for her friend but low in spirits herself.

The reason was soon got out of her. She had quarrelled with her son, who had stormed off in high dudgeon and was now refusing to speak to her; returning her notes expressing heartfelt contrition unopened.

She sympathised.

It was all over the girl, of course.

“Of course,” she murmured, watching her new husband advancing toward her, not looking remotely melancholy or worn down. “What girl?”

“Miss Palpatine,” Lady Leia spoke in mournful accents.

“Of course,” Amilyn took her husband’s arm, “Miss Palpatine.”

Lady Leia fought down her sense of ill-usage as she watched her friend float gracefully away, leaning upon her husband’s arm as he clasped her hands in a most sustaining way.

Really, she wished Amilyn well, truly she did, but maybe she would give her a hint; it wouldn’t do to show oneself too fond of one’s husband in public - _especially at her age._ Suddenly she had the headache and decided to grace the company for only a few minutes more before departing. Those officers were making the most appalling racket, and the duke was no better, egging the company on as he was doing, and his obsession with sight of a pretty woman’s ankles bordered on the indecent.

She searched for comfort from that wee, small voice, as had become her custom lately. It was loud by its absence. Now she really did have the headache.

The wedding night passed beautifully. The new countess had been suddenly struck how to explain to a younger husband that her body had changed as she had gotten older. How she was willing but would need a little patience and care before their joining, she being so long untouched.

Of course, she needn’t have worried, her husband proved his tenderness even in this intimate matter, so difficult to articulate, and she awoke in her bed the next morning feeling wonderful.

Later she blushed beautifully as her husband entered the salon where she was taking her breakfast and placed a soft kiss upon her lips, uncaring of the presence of the servants, as he was to do each morning the entirety of their life together.

Jennings, his tread grown even more stately since he received the happy news he now served a Countess rather than a mere Baroness, was dispatched ahead in a travelling coach piled high with luggage and servants, her housekeeper left in charge of the London house.

Amilyn herself stepped into a travelling chaise with her maid, the arms of her husband’s patrimony painted upon the doors.

Her husband chose to ride as escort with four other men, soldiers he had bought out of the army, men born and bred on the Gower estate who had followed him to war, now returning home with him. They were dark of hair and eye and mounted on Welsh cobs, speaking to Dopheld in a language she had never heard before.

“It sounds as though you are all singing rather than speaking,” she confided to him, struck by the cadences of the Welsh tongue.

“That’s because Welsh is the tongue of the angels,” he informed her.

She laughed, but secretly thought that it could be.

Dopheld rode by the side of the chaise, Gelert easily keeping pace with the four chestnuts pulling it, his long, loping stride eating up the miles, or scouted ahead for danger. Although it must be said it would be foolish highwaymen who attacked them, each man, Dopheld included, having a brace of pistols holstered on the saddle bow before him. In addition, Dopheld’s sheathed sword rested under his thigh, and each of the four had a musket strapped to their back.

Amilyn sank back into the squabs of the chaise and watched with fondness the man she had so precipitously married, or gossiped idly with her maid.

They stayed two days on the road, and could have made home by the end of the third except Dopheld insisted on one more night, racking up at a good quality inn. “I want you to first see Gower in the daytime,” he explained, “and likewise for Gower to see its countess.”

After a leisurely breakfast, they set off to cover the last few miles, Amilyn getting her maid to take particular care over her appearance. As they joined the coast road she began to see why Dopheld had delayed.

There was a stiff breeze blowing, but the sky was blue, the sun occasionally hindered by cloud scudding in from the west, an indication of a weather front coming in. The scenery was breathtaking, a wildness to the land contrasting with mile after mile of golden sand and the sea a vast silver, glittering expanse. It was breathtaking and even her London-bred maid gasped and exclaimed over it, awestruck.

Then there was the castle ahead, softened by time and improving hands from its original purpose: to impose the will of a fourteenth century English king upon his unruly Welsh subjects.

It stood high above the shore, grey stones absorbing such warmth as the late autumn sun provided, the steep roofs clad with Welsh slate glitteringly reflecting its light. A 30 foot blue pennant, depicting the yellow cross of St. David with the red dragon of Wales nestled at its heart, flew from a flagpole placed on a high turret, the linen snapping and cracking against the buffeting wind, the metal lanyards securing it jangling madly.

As she stepped down from the chaise, supported by Dopheld’s hand, her gaze encompassed a courtyard full of people - surely not all of the castle’s servants?

A touching scene ensued, the women and young girls catching at her gloved hand as they curtseyed, pressing a fervent kiss to it. The men tried for a courtly bow, whilst clutching their hats against their chests.

She was to realise in the months to come that no prince or potentate commanded greater reverence amongst them than her. She was their Countess, their Seigneur, their Lady.

She moved toward the castle entrance where awaited her London footmen and her Butler, Jennings looking like a cat that had been at the cream. He bowed low, “My lady.” She crossed the threshold on Dopheld’s arm and her new life began.

She was born for service, she realised, as she discussed the management and improvement of the estate with her husband, and understood the power wielded by Gower in South Wales, even as far as London. As she planned the building of a terraced garden on the south facing slopes before the castle, and the installation of modern conveniences within the fortress. As she organised schooling for the local children and negotiated with both the Methodist minister and the Anglican priest to the benefit of all.

She had a desire to serve she finally understood, and had instinctively shied away from Poe who offered gaiety but whose lifestyle was not for her, though he had made it seem that it was, it being empty otherwise. Upon reaching this understanding and subsequently finding peace within herself, she prepared to settle comfortably into harness for the duration she was Gower’s countess.

Fate had other surprises in store for the Countess of Gower, however. She began to sicken shortly after settling in, chafing against the malady which restricted her in her usefulness. Dopheld, frowning worriedly, insisted a doctor be called from Swansea.

At the age of 42, Amilyn held a tiny bundle against her breast, a little lord, Viscount Powys, if you please. All Gower erupted in rejoicing and messages of goodwill and gifts flooded in from all quarters.

Surely, nature was now done joking with her? No, six months later those very same symptoms returned, if anything a little harsher. At 43, Amilyn again held a tiny bundle against her breast, a little lady, Lady Roxanne Mitaka, if you please. The earldom was secure.

+++

Four days after Lady Holdo accepted Dopheld’s offer of marriage, two carriages halted before Lady Netal’s townhouse. Lord Netal’s son and heir by his first marriage stepped out, accompanied by Lord Netal’s London attorney.

Gaining entry, jostling Miss Lintra, who immediately dashed to her room and packed her trunk, they trod to Lady Netal’s boudoir. Lord Netal’s attorney did the talking, informing the errant wife that numerous letters of complaint had been received by Lord Netal regarding her conduct living apart from him. Lord Netal was therefore exercising his rights as a husband and had ordered her immediate return home.

She wept and pleaded, swearing it was because of jealousy and spite if unkind persons had slandered her. She soon fell silent, however, the two principal gentlemen being unmoved by her protestations. She reluctantly put on her hat and pelisse, gathered up her jewellery and certain papers and accompanied them, very sullenly, to the waiting carriage.

A stern faced woman was found to be her travelling companion, the carriage door was shut, the order given the whip cracked and the carriage moved off. Bazine Netal’s London sojourn was over.


	14. Ben Holds his Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twopenneth worth = giving two pennies worth of opinion. The modern equivalent, ‘My two cents’.

Ben arrived at his mother’s house shortly after 10am the morning after the ball, too late to have speech with Rey who had already left the house.

Upon setting eyes upon the harassed Marquis, a tremor passed over Hux’s usually impassive face as the full sum of Miss Palpatine’s wrath, as seen on his employer’s son’s face, smote his eyes. For Ben had a bruised jaw, a black eye, and a split lip, and a cut requiring a single stitch over one eye.

He transmitted the information that Miss Palpatine was out, not expected to return until late in the day, and that his Mama would quite like to see him. With extreme reluctance Ben handed over his hat, cane and gloves, keeping on his greatcoat so as to send a clear message to her that he would not loiter in her company.

As he trod up the stairs to his Mama’s private sitting room, he reflected with some anxiety over his situation. He did hope - for once - his mother would not interfere, but would allow him and Rey to reconcile without putting her twopenneth worth in . 

Never, for one moment, had he meant to imply his sweetheart was easy of virtue or too free with her favours. It was an unfortunate slip of the tongue, to which, if left to themselves, he could assure her he was prone.

Why, oh why, could Papa not have bestowed a little of his charm upon his only child instead of just his height? It had won Mama, surely just a quarter of it would have set his son up in a fair way to dazzle all the personable females in London. Not that he necessarily wanted to dazzle _all_ the females, he hastily rebuked his errant thoughts, just Miss Palpatine would do.

If Papa had not been so miserly, Miss Palpatine would not have felt beholden to unleash her fists upon him to defend her honour, but he could have seduced her with winsome words. Not that he wanted to seduce her with anything but words mind you; well, he did, just not in a ballroom.

He let out a gusty sigh, instead he’d had to sit in Lady Holdo’s housekeeper’s room and have her cold keys passed five times inside his shirt and down his back before his nose would stop bleeding. And Jennings had had to put the stitch above his eyebrow - it was too mortifying to send for a surgeon.

Lady Holdo had been kindness itself, his Mama not so much. He dreaded to hear what she now had to say. Grave cares were pressing down upon him, therefore, as he knocked on her sitting room door and heard her voice bid him enter.

Mercifully, beyond giving one scowling frown at his marred visage, she was reticent about last evening, instead requesting he escort her to the estate at Alderaan, departing next morning.

“Mama,” I believe I have to deny you, he answered politely, “it is most necessary I speak with Rey and petition for her forgiveness.”

His Mama’s frown became more pronounced. “Really, Ben, is it too much that your own dear mother asks for your escort, going forth as she is where footpads and highwaymen lurk who may fall upon her and rob her - or do something worse?”

“Hardly that Mama,” his mother, being also Alderaan’s Justice of the Peace, gave short shrift to persons of this sort and the roads in and around Alderaan were the safest in the country, whether one sallied forth by day or by night.

The storm of recrimination and blame then unleashed upon him caused him to consider whether it was not best to become mute, learning only the basic signs so one could order dinner, have laundry done, and signify the need to sleep. 

Eventually it stopped, his mother seeking refuge in her handkerchief.

Sighing, he began a reasonable explanation as to why he could not leave London presently.

When Miss Palpatine had forgiven him, and all his efforts must be to ensure she did, then he would gladly escort both his mother and betrothed to Alderaan; country air would do all three of them good, he thought.

His mother lowered her handkerchief, revealing dry eyes.

“As to that, my son, do you think Miss Palpatine a fit person to become your bride?”

Now he scowled at her, growling warningly, _“Mother“._

She rose, beginning to pace, silk skirts rustling softly as she walked. She began, “Benjamin.”

His eyes narrowed, his Sunday name was on her lips. He was not going to like what she had to say, not-at-all.

“Benjamin, you must see that Miss Palpatine is not eligible to bear the title of duchess of Alderaan after me. I have suspected it for some little while, last evening confirmed all my deepest fears. Oh, I know by birth and fortune she may _seem_ unexceptionable, but to accost Lady Netal in that way - with no proof the emeralds were indeed hers, only her word that they were.”

She stole a glance at him and quickly averted her eyes; his features suddenly bore a striking resemblance to his grandfather.

“Why Lady Netal was like to be ruined and we drawn into it. Notice I do not mention her assault upon you - thankfully not conducted in open company. My apology to Amilyn, let me assure you, was both fulsome and long. No, my mind is made up; no notice is to be sent to The Times and Miss Palpatine must leave this house and my protection. I cannot, in good conscience, do otherwise.”

She had halted her perambulation by a table upon which she displayed precious treasures; miniatures of her parents and of Ben, a curl of his baby hair filched while he slept and kept in a silver trinket box, and such like.

She did not look up when he began to speak, she did not dare. Gone was her son’s low rumble, instead the snarl of Anakin Skywalker sounded through the tiny apartment, made more dreadful by its quiet intensity. She had thought him to have only Han’s sweet, easy-going nature, indeed had exploited it these last ten years and more. It occurred to her she may be in error.

“I see what you are about, ma’am.”

Oh, the chilling formality. She was his Mama, his dearest Mama.

“I see what you are about, ma’am, and I tell you, you will not succeed. I anticipate your next move; you will cut off my allowance or make the threat of it to subdue me. Do it,” he spat these words out and she shivered.

“No more will I run in your harness, _madam_. Do your worst, but I will marry Rey Palpatine and I will live happy and content ... and without you if I must. I will waste no more of your time, nor mine, if you scheme as I now suppose to indulge yourself in pointless tears and threats. I bid you good day.”

And then there was the sound of his heavy tread, so like Anakin’s, and the snap of the door being closed. She heard him move down the hallway, the same deliberate, purposeful tread, then silence.

Her hands had gone unnoticed to her cheeks and she felt wetness upon them. Tears, those of the most precious sort as they came from her heart. She had pushed her beloved boy too far - and he was beloved though managed for his own good - and driven him away. She let out a strangled cry, _”Ben!”_ , and ran for the door, out and down the passageway, skirts raised and her tears falling thick and fast, unbidden.

She reached the balustrade of the stairs and leaned over it, vision blurred by her tears but able to make out the massive frame of her son.

“Ben!” She saw him turn back from the front door, Hux ready to bow him out. Her nimble feet found each stair, for her eyes were not capable of sight. She was before him, stunned by his indifference to her distress as she wiped at her treacherous eyes with the back of her hand. Oh, if only they would cease this humiliating torrent.

“Ben,” she panted, “you cannot leave with all this unresolved.”

He gave a snort of derision and turned to go.

Oh, that desire inherent in her to have mastery over others, never did it assert itself so catastrophically. “If you leave,” her voice was now controlled and icy in tone, “and choose that scavenger girl over me, you can’t come back. No matter what, you can’t come back.”

He had now turned to face her and she drew in a shuddering breath. Ben’s soft, brown eyes, inherited from her, reflected instead the black of Anakin’s.

Still her evil genius prompted one more foolish utterance, the last he would permit her. “And I’ll see the dukedom taken away from you and given to another.”

He smiled, but it was more a drawing back of his lips in a snarl, showing teeth. 

With great ceremony, he doffed his hat and bowed, “As you wish, mother.”

Then his hat was put back on; he turned on his heel and was the next moment gone, Hux shutting the door behind him.

“Ben,” she cried out again, and then her world went dark.

She came around choking on the odour of burnt feathers. “Stop it, Kanata,” she snapped, swatting her maid’s hand away from wafting them under her nose, sabotaging her ministrations, sitting up on the sofa where she’d been laid and taking her bearings, “and take those foul smelling things away.”

Her handmaiden huffed but obeyed, muttering under her breath.

Leia lowered her hand from her aching forehead and eyed her maid.

“Maz, what do you know?”

Maz kept her eyes on her task, not answering.

“I see.” Leia licked her lips. “Maz, I wouldn’t wish Miss Palpatine to get word of this, and certainly not Miss Palpatine’s woman.”

Maz’s eyes gleamed with malice.

“Of course, I am quite confident Mr. Hux will prove discreet, but, well, you know, some of the younger servants may forget their place.”

Leia smoothed the creases from her gown, “I don’t think, you see, I could bear it if ... Han ... you know.”

Her faithful maid did indeed know, and into Leia’s field of vision as she gazed down at her lap, convulsively smoothing and pleating her silk gown, Maz’s gnarled, nut brown hands came into view, clasping and stilling her own.

“I know, my pet. I know, my sweet lady.”

Leia raised her eyes and looked into Maz’s. Her maid’s myopic gaze was full of love and understanding.

“If I can just get her out of the house and get my son to Alderaan, all will be well. I know it.”

Maz said nothing, continuing to hold her hands in a comforting clasp and squeezing them to show her understanding.

“Yes, well, I must get on,” Leia pull her hands away, standing wearily. “When Miss Palpatine returns to the house I wish to see her, immediately. Convey my orders to Hux, please, I’ll be in my sitting room.”

Not waiting for confirmation, she trudged upstairs to write the first of numerous notes to her son, all of which were returned, unopened, shortly after delivery. By the time Miss Palpatine returned to the house, Ben’s servant and landlord were refusing them on the doorstep.

She would have gone to him and worn him down, but must await Rey’s return.

In turn, she refused to grant admittance to that wee, small voice.


	15. Victory, Victory

He went to his lodging to change morning dress for buckskins and a riding jacket, determining to visit the boxing salon he patronised and punch his anger and frustration out.

Before he left, the first of his mother’s many notes that day arrived, and he had it carried back to her unopened and unread. By the evening he had given orders for them not to be accepted.

After training, and then matched against a competent heavyweight for a sparring session, he felt much better and took himself off for a massage and steam bath, glorying in the cold of the plunge pool after.

The mental trauma of the morning’s interview with his mother was blown away, and he calmly assessed their relationship as he returned to his rooms and changed to visit his club for lunch. That she loved him, he knew. That their relationship had become one-sided and unbalanced he acknowledged. For this he blamed Uncle Luke.

That canting hypocrite had overset him the short while he had been in his charge, with his talk of hellfire and eternal damnation and, it seemed, condemnation of everything that seemed honest and natural. He had come back to his mother nervy and fearful and she - he saw it all now - had gone the opposite way, wrapping him in cotton wool and determined to shield him from every prevailing wind and storm.

Somehow, mothering had become _smothering_ and then morphed into a benign dictatorship, and he had not known how to assert himself, knowing how much his mother grieved after Papa had abandoned her - until Miss Palpatine.

He would take back not one word of what had been said this morning, his course was fixed, but he could not hate his mother, would never hate her. She had done what she thought best, but now they needed to define and establish boundaries.

He was changing into evening dress when a note from Miss Palpatine arrived, preparing to brave his mother’s house and whisk her away if he must.

“ _Darling,”_ Miss Palpatine had written, “ _as anticipated, I’ve received my marching orders and must find another billet. Stand fast, dearest, and I will come to you._

The black rage that had possessed him this morning returned, and had it not been for the tender feeling he held for the writer of this missive, he would have torn it to shreds and put it in the back of the fire to somewhat relieve his feelings.

However, she _had_ written it, and it therefore became a precious memento. He tucked it into his coat’s inside pocket, next to his heart.

He went instead to his club and dined there, meeting an acquaintance up from the country and losing himself in discussion of a new seed drill and other matters of that sort, for he was keen to further improve the estate at Theed if he could and make it pay. If his mother cut off his allowance, and she was capable of that, he must make every acre count.

A flutter of uncertainty afflicted his heart. Would Miss Palpatine want him now, stripped of fortune and title? He pushed that worry away, but it gnawed at him so that his sleep was broken and he awoke later than intended, heavy eyed.

After getting dressed in his favourite garb, riding dress, he ignored Miss Palpatine’s order to stand fast and prepared to go corner his mother and demand his fiancée’s location from her.

As he strolled down the street he noticed two things; a travelling carriage was parked up drawn by four high-bred horses, a groom at their heads, which were tossing their heads with haste to be off, their iron shod hooves rasping and scraping against the roadway, and a large man was leaning against the railings engaged in picking at his nails.

That the man was not a habitué of Ben’s neighbourhood was obvious, for he seemed to be wearing the garb of a coal man. Further, there was no bustle about the carriage to load or unload luggage or assist passengers in their ingress or egress.

On his present trajectory, he would pass close by both. He gripped his cane tighter - he had a bad feeling about this.

He passed the tall man who, he saw, was larger even than he, and gave a nod of his head as greeting. The man responded by touching two fingers to his leather cap and muttering, “Sir.” He then proceeded unmolested.

As he drew parallel to the carriage, the near side door swung lazily open under the agency of some as yet unseen hand. A woman’s voice called him from within, “Lord Theed, a moment of your time, I beg.”

Curious, he trod to the open door, decorated with arms which seemed familiar to him somehow, and politely inquired, “Yes, ma’am, how may I assist you?”, peering into the dim interior as all the blinds had been drawn.

Hardly had the words left his mouth when there was a terrific shove from behind and he sprawled onto the floor of the equipage. Scrambling to his knees the carriage door was slammed shut behind him and he heard a shout of “Let ‘em go.” A whip cracked and they began to move forward at pace.

As he scrambled to his knees, fists clenched, he came face to face with Miss Palpatine.

“Rey!” he ejaculated, reaching for her, “sweetheart.”

His long arms wrapped around her person as she leaned into him. He pulled her with him onto the floor of the carriage as it rattled and swayed over the London cobbles, kissing her as if there were no tomorrow.

She gasped, helpfully indicating that the ribbon securing her bonnet was choking her. He had it untied in a trice, flinging her mangled headgear who knew where and returning with enthusiasm to the task in hand.

In turn, she had knocked off his low crowned beaver hat with a careless flick of her wrist, her tiny hands burying themselves in his hair and pulling and tugging at it in a way that elicited moans and groans from him of a most obscene sounding sort.

His beloved’s pelisse had parted in the melee, and her dress and petticoats had ridden up to expose her ankles and calves. It seemed the most natural thing in all the world to place a hand upon her calf and have it traverse northwards in increments to knead and caress her thigh, at the same time discovering from the soft kneading of one of her breasts that Miss Palpatine was not wearing stays. His mind was blown; lost to unfamiliar sensations found to be more intoxicating than wine.

Responding to this manhandling of her person, Miss Palpatine’s fingertips were now scraping against his scalp and she was emitting moans and groans equalling his in intensity, at the same time breathing out his name with erotic sounding breathlessness whenever they broke for air.

The sound of discreet coughing halted their writhing. Ben raised his head and looked down upon Miss Palpatine’s blissful, wanton face. “Sweetheart,” he timidly enquired, “is there someone else in this carriage?”

“What?” she replied dreamily. “Someone else?”

“Well, yes, dearest. I swear I heard someone cough just now.”

Her nose scrunched delightfully, her brows drawing together with the effort of remembrance, as she mulled over his question, “Why, yes, my maid... “ There was a sharp _’ahem’_ from behind him. “Oh, do forgive me, Connie. My _dresser_ , yes, Miss Connix, my dresser is also here. As chaperone,” she added.

He released his grip on Miss Palpatine’s breast and thigh and made a start of smoothing down her skirt and petticoats. His ears, exposed by the writhing of Miss Palpatine’s fingers in his hair, were bright red and burning.

They made it onto the carriage seat, spending several moments righting themselves. Miss Palpatine having to modestly turn away to adjust her garters, uncomfortably skewed because of her beau’s rough handling. Never had he been more glad of his greatcoat, for there was a protuberance underneath it he’d rather hide from the world in general and Miss Connix in particular.

He finally found the courage to raise his eyes to the seat opposite. Miss Connix was sitting side on, having helpfully drawn her legs up onto the banquette to facilitate the lovers’ endeavours below her, and was scribbling furiously into a notebook propped against her knees, skirts primly wrapped about her ankles. Rey’s bonnet and his hat rested at her feet. Of his cane there was as yet no discernible sign.

“Ah,” observed, Miss Palpatine, “the muse has struck.”

Ben gazed at her blankly, “The muse?”

“Connie,” his beloved explained with some pride, “is a gifted writer. Shortly to be a published author,” she added.

Miss Connix raised her head briefly and shot a wide smile at them both before returning to her scribbling. There was not a trace of consciousness at what she’d just witnessed in her demeanour. Ben thought, judgementally, surely there ought to be?

“Oh,” there really was nothing else he could think of to say at that moment.

“Connie,” continued Miss Palpatine, “is going to take London by storm, incognito, of course. _Nothing_ must come between her and her plans for Mr. Wookie.”

“Mr Wookie?”

“Connie’s intended. The gentleman who pushed you into the carriage.”

“Does he perchance wear a leather waistcoat and cap?” Ben asked.

Miss Palpatine gave a gurgle of laughter. “I told Connie you’d notice him. Oh, how I wish we’d shaken hands on the bet.”

Ben was about to make his feelings known on the subject when he and Miss Palpatine were pressed against the seat, the horses having surged forward in their collars setting an even faster pace. Miss Connix, seated with her back to the horses, put out a hand to steady herself.

“Ah, we must have cleared London,” pronounced Miss Palpatine, lowering one of the blinds. A glimpse of countryside revealed itself. Miss Connix righted herself and began once more to scribble furiously.

Ben, bemused, and realising Miss Palpatine had as determined a nature as his mother, asked, “Cleared London? Miss Palpatine, where are we going?”

She turned, her bright smile lighting up her face and causing his own lips to curve becomingly.

He was too much temptation, she lurched forward and attached her lips to his, kissing him deeply and comprehensively. They remained attached when she broke the kiss, both his arms encompassing her form, one of his huge mitts touching the edge of one of her breasts. She leaned into him to facilitate his cupping the whole of it and began to stroke his cheeks with one gloved hand.

“Darling, we’re going to Theed, and Connie has in her possession a special licence obtained this morning from the Archbishop of Canterbury so that we may be married tomorrow.”

She was looking at him intently, minutely scrutinising his reaction to her news. Now was the moment when he must confess his changed circumstances, before matters advanced too far and he compromised her.

“Sweetheart,” his Adam’s apple bobbed convulsively, her hand stopped stroking his cheek and rather rested itself against it. “I have broken with Mama, and she has threatened the most dire of consequences. Sweetheart, I’m to lose my allowance and the dukedom - and my mother - as I have chosen you. My dear Rey, I’m ashamed to say all I have to offer you is myself.”

“You speak as if that’s not enough,” she murmured.

“You do not understand,” he pleaded, “it affects not only me, but our children and what they may have hoped to inherit. Rey, you could do a lot better for yourself. Let us turn back, I pray, before your reputation is compromised, so that you may meditate if you truly wish to tie yourself to me.”

Her head was cocked to one side, as if the better to examine him.

“Do you regret choosing me?”

“No!” his tone was forceful and emphatic, “Never could I regret you, but you, heart, you may regret me, and that I could not bear.”

“And I could never regret you. As for our children, well, they’ll have an education and parents who love them and each other most profoundly. Anything else they can make shift for themselves.”

She continued, “Our children, my darling, will be spoilt with love and that’s the finest treasure and title deed they could ever hope to possess.”

There was the sound of sniffling opposite. Miss Connix was blowing her nose and dashing away tears. She gave them both a watery smile and returned to her scribbling.

Miss Palpatine resumed her soft stroking of his cheek, “Worry no more, dearest, we will win your Mama back, I promise. She will be unable to resist, I know it.”

“Do you think?” he asked her hopefully. “It ended badly between us and I refused, in the end, to accept her notes.”

“It shall be included in the marriage vow,” she pledged.

He laughed, the sound a little wobbly, embarrassed to have his emotions so openly on show, and began to look about him appreciatively.

“I did not know you had set up your own carriage.”

“Oh, I haven’t. This is Arthur’s.”

He stared at her, much puzzled, “You can’t mean The Duke, surely.”

She was nodding, face full of mirth, “Indeed, I do. I set Connie onto him and as he is as putty in her hands, _voila_ , one borrowed carriage.” She thought for a moment, “Oh, and he disturbed the Archbishop a his breakfast and got him to issue the licence. _’No one denies England’s Hero’_ ,” she put on a deep voice as she uttered this last sentence, impersonating the absent duke tolerably well.

“You’re a wicked, ungrateful girl,” he murmured, taking her once more in his arms.

This close he couldn’t miss the wicked glint in her eyes, “I intend to be even naughtier,” she whispered, “and you, my lord, will thank me for it.”

There was no answering this, he having had a taste of her naughtiness just now, so they spent the rest of the journey holding hands under the rug they pulled over their knees, Miss Connix looking benignly on.

The manor at Theed was found to be a noble Tudor house, with a single wing added at a later date. Its stones were a faded soft gold, clad with wisteria in every month which was called May; its roof a lichen bestrewn soft grey. Large mullion windows let in plenty of light, and the entrance hall was a noble one leading off to oak panelled first floor rooms. Carved stone and ornate plaster ceilings proliferated along with wide stone fireplaces.

The house woke briefly to give its new mistress a kindly, sleepy welcome. Noting the absence of ruffs and ornate codpieces and crinolines in the new people, it settled back down into slumber. Rey proved herself a loving, sympathetic chatelaine over the years, disturbing little but the dust.

Miss Palpatine crossed the threshold the first time in Ben’s arms, he sweeping her off her feet and vowing to do this each and every time, earning Miss Connix’s tacit approval.

She crossed it a second time as Marchioness of Theed, having trod across a bedewed lawn the following morning arm in arm with her intended to be married in the tiny chapel belonging the house.

She took her vows, administered by a parson as dry as the Latin and Greek texts he studied, his cuffs frayed and his manner meek. Nevertheless, his voice rang powerfully throughout the chapel as he administered the marriage rites, and Rey felt a rare sense of communion with a higher power as she stood before the altar.

Turning toward her Ben, to receive his kiss, her commitment was made to him that day not only by words but with the lifeblood of her heart. These were the first steps in a long and happy union


	16. All’s Well That Ends Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thruppence = equivalent of three pennies.
> 
> Well, here’s the conclusion of this mad tale. Thank you to all of you who have accompanied me on the journey; and to those who have left a kudos or comment, a heartfelt thank you. ❤️

A material change in Rey and Kaydel’s relationship came about the evening of that happy day when Ben and Rey were united by the marriage bond. Mr. Wookie, head over heels in love with the lively Miss Connix, could not bear a single moment apart from her - except that necessary to work in the family business.

Word came up from the kitchen that a _large person_ was at the back door desiring speech with Miss Connix. Miss Connix found her heart fluttered with pleasurable anticipation at this news, and discovered that it was indeed her besotted swain, standing on the threshold too shy to enter the house.

Her Charles seemed to think he was in for a scolding, but nevertheless blurted out that a single minute spent unnecessarily apart from her was so exquisite a torture it was not to be borne. He had followed her by means of the Mail coach and a five mile hike in order to assuage his suffering.

Deep, dark eyes were raised to meet pleadingly her own dark brown orbs, to find his mistress’s lips were shaped in a silent ‘oh’ of wonder, whereupon she burst into tears and flew into his arms. Her Charles, having just delivered the longest speech of his life, enfolded her in arms more akin to steel bands and murmured comfortingly, “There, there, love.”

This simple exhortation caused Miss Connix to cry harder, to Mr. Wookie’s dismay. He offered to leave immediately, and found himself clutched by Miss Connix’s hands in such a way as to have no hope of freeing himself.

“Don’t you dare, Charles. Just don’t you dare. Kiss me.”

Oblivious of the shocked gaze of the few servants present, Mr. Wookie obliged. 

Finally breaking the kiss and dabbing at his sweetheart’s eyes with a handkerchief more resembling a table napkin in its dimensions, he was informed that Miss Connix loved him too. Much more than he did her, and that if he knew how much he’d faint on the spot.

Some latent gift of levity must have been awoken in her stoic lover, or perhaps Cupid’s dart was indeed buried deep in his heart, for he staggered as though about to do just that. Miss Connix, held safely within his embrace, shrieked with laughter and looked upon him fondly, drawing him to table and giving imperious orders that food and drink be brought.

No thought of questioning her right to command occurred and Mr. Wookie was soon served, Miss Connix sitting beside him all the while seeming unable to go a moment without running her hand through his hair or over his mighty muscles, or gazing besottedly into his eyes.

It was both joyous and painful to inform her friend that on the morrow she would return to London in Arthur’s travelling coach with her beau, Mr. Wookie not able to be spared from the family business - indeed would get a scolding when he showed his face as he was currently absent without leave.

Both girls, however, had long had a tacit agreement to pursue their individual belonging, formed during their exposure to the horrors of 19th century warfare and the rigours of the peripatetic lifestyle of those who choose to follow the drum.

Three weeks later, Miss Connix, spinster of the parish, married Mr. Charles Wookie, bachelor, at his Stepney parish church. Lady Theed stood as her Matron of Honour, Lord Theed gave her away. The church was packed with soldiery, looking splendid in their regimentals. 

She too left church under an arch of glittering sabres, the bright blades defying the grey November sky. Then all decamped to The George for a knees up at the Wookie watering hole of choice, Lady Theed doing her friend proud with lavish provision of food and drink.

Her first novel was popular and sold well - published anonymously - in part because Arthur had both bound volumes ostentatiously displayed on a table in his morning room, where visitors could not fail to notice and make inquiry. He was partisan in recommending it.

Her second sold on its own account, in part due to a sensational scene set in a carriage conveying the desperate lovers North to Scotland. This book was also condemned by several senior churchmen, and proclaimed forbidden reading by stern fathers and censorious employers, thereby ensuring it was a runaway success - it went to three reprints.

All in all, Connie thereafter led a quiet, retired sort of life producing strapping sons and delicate daughters, welcome additions to the Wookie clan, between churning out lurid romances; and at the end more in love with Charles Wookie than she had been at the beginning.

+++

Lady Leia visited her son the morning of his abduction, too late to witness the execution of that fell deed by her rival for her son’s exclusive affection. She had her footman shoulder his way into the premises, disbelieving of the assurance Ben was not there.

She then subjected his valet to a rigorous interrogation, reducing the poor man to tears. Finally, she established that her son was not in the house, having had the attic searched too in case he had secreted himself there, and swept out uttering a valedictory, “I’ll be back!”

She returned the next day, early enough to catch him abed, and gained entrance in the same manner.

She saw for herself that his bed was undisturbed and, after having a systematic search of the house made, left extremely puzzled until it occurred to her he may have gone to ground at his club.

Storming that bastion of male exclusivity the next day with _two_ footmen in tow, the most imposing of her household, she was repulsed; ejected by the club’s burly porter and several footmen found to be the superior of hers - livery was torn and eyes blackened.

Ben’s club was also frequented by Arthur, who witnessed the whole from the second floor bow window and who mendaciously wrote her a note forbidding her to launch a repeat assault. He then chided her for making herself the laughing stock of London and putting her name in the mouth of such persons as street idlers and servants.

As she had a great deal of pride, she heeded his words and satisfied herself with writing numerous notes to her errant son, delivered to his club with such tedious regularity its owner, in the end, ordered their refusal.

Believing her son to be behind this edict, she promptly cut off his allowance and ordered the family bible to be taken down and brought to her sitting room; poring over the genealogy painstakingly written in the frontspiece to decide which of the unworthy Naberrie line she could name heir to the dukedom.

Amilyn’s marriage to Dopheld provided a welcome, temporary distraction from her troubles - not really but she went through the motions. Her friend went about with her usual stately grace, but there seemed to radiate from her such serene joy and contentment as to set Leia’s teeth on edge.

She was not jealous, she tittered at the very idea, but she piously hoped her friend was not _doomed_ to disappointment.

A letter from her son was delivered shortly after the wedding and before Amilyn departed for Wales. She cursed herself for not anticipating he had sought refuge at the Theed estate, believing that wherever Miss Palpatine was so her son would be, and tore the letter open. Such news as the letter imparted confirmed Miss Palpatine a scheming hussy and her son imposed upon by said hussy, and that her surmise had been correct.

She ordered mourning clothes and had her son’s portrait hung with black crape - even the silver box containing his precious baby curls was placed upon a specially made tiny black cushion. She then sat down and awaited his appearing before her to beg her forgiveness. It never happened.

Ben and Rey’s love affair was conducted with the optimism and fearlessness of the young. The earthly delight they found in the worship of each other’s bodies fortified them as if a strong wall. They needed only each other.

Although privileged, they were not free from trouble, but, like Connie and Charles Wookie, at the end they could say they loved each other more than at the beginning, there now being a tested quality to their love. Hence, Leia waited in vain.

The impasse was broken by Sheev Palpatine. Receiving an invitation to spend Christmas and New Year with them at Theed, the rich magnate left his Northern fastness and made the trek south.

Determined to monopolise his future grandchildren’s love and devotion, Rey conveying the happy news of her first pregnancy, he sneered at the paltry sum Leia had denied her only child and settled upon him, independent of Rey, the yearly sum of twenty-thousand pounds - conditional only on their firstborn son bearing his name.

Journeying back to the North late January, he sojourned several days in London, staying at the Pulteney. He couldn’t resist making a morning call on Leia to crow over her, exacting every iota of satisfaction from her discomfiture and predicting a lonely, pointless sort of life for her hence.

He left her, cackling over her self-imposed mourning, his house and progeny ascendant over hers. He had over-reached himself.

As Hux closed the door on him, Leia rang the bell for Maz, who received a scolding for letting her mistress indulge her morbid fancies unchecked. Let all this black be swept away - immediately!

As she anticipated, an invitation came through to spend Easter at Theed, (she had spurned the Christmas one), and so travelled in great state to visit the newlyweds. 

She could trump Sheev Palpatine simply by being Ben’s mother, and took with her a small trunk filled with memento’s of his babyhood, his tiny shoes, his dresses, drawings he had made, adding to it fond reminiscence - a veritable plethora of fond maternal love and sentimentality.

She had Rey at first coo, her son squirming, ears burning.

Finally, she made financial reparation. Settling upon him, irrevocably, the fortune Anakin Skywalker had on his deathbed made her swear to bestow upon his beloved Benjamin. 

With it came heartfelt apology and confirmation that he would have the dukedom upon her passing, she had had it set in law - the family bible having been once more consigned to gather dust on the library shelf.

She heard it now, that wee, small voice. It said one word to her, she heard in it pleased satisfaction and pride - “Daughter!”

+++

Lord Netal welcomed home his errant wife with tender sympathy. He could not regret marrying her, but perceived he had misjudged her nature.

Unable at present to indulge her appetite for glittering company and constant amusement, he nevertheless sat down with his son and heir and made provision for her future. Conditional on all monies and property reverting to the Netal estate upon her remarriage or death, a handsome widow’s jointure was to be settled upon her.

She wept when given the news, Lord Netal carefully explaining every consequence and caveat of the settlement. She wept because she perceived her husband was too good for her; that her heart was shallow; and that in spite of his goodness she still coveted those shallow, trumpery things of the world.

She made a great effort and spent the last months of his life by his side, as devoted as she could be - he daily rejoicing in her company.

At last she was free and observed a period of mourning, returning to London in much greater style than before. It might be anticipated that Major Dameron would come calling, and indeed he did. However, another had sent his card up before him - Arthur.

Arthur had made a disastrous marriage. What was worse, he had known how it would be before he trod up the aisle. However, he could not in honour draw back without shaming the lady in question.

There was something of the adventurer in Arthur, he being a younger son and having to make his way in the world, and there were aspects of Bazine’s character that repulsed others but which he could understand and appreciate. He flirted with her, she responded wholeheartedly.

There came about one of the open secrets of London high society and one of history’s great liaisons.

Arthur went into politics and Bazine was both his mistress and helpmeet. He was not always faithful to her, but she was able to shrug a careless shoulder if some inkling that his latest flirt had succumbed reached her. She was his constant companion and confidante, placed at the centre of high politics and society. She was content.

Some doors were closed to her, those of Skywalker, Theed and Gower for instance, but the majority were not and she could accept these slights.

Arthur, ever adept at compartmentalising his life, suffered not one check in his friendship with these powerful houses, and suffered no spleen.

If, late in life, she wearied of it all; well, there was a house on the Netal estate set aside for her use and a less censorious Baron Netal occupying the great house. She had been able to help her family and had assiduously advanced them, and for this alone earned their undying gratitude and regard.

That she was still _someone_ was evident to the very end, powerful, influential visitors frequently broke their journey at her house, and she was an inveterate letter writer.

In these golden years she had time for reflection and wrote a memoir of a life lived less ordinary, and made it her daily walk to visit where the one man who had truly loved her lay.

+++

Amilyn, meanwhile, was learning the traditions of Gower and implementing some of her own.

At Christmas the great medieval hall was garnished with greenery and a great garland of dried flowers hung the length of it, taking a whole week to put up. 

Estate workers, castle servants, and the inhabitants of the village took their places on benches set before trestle tables loaded with Christmas goodness as Amilyn, Dopheld, and Jennings and his minions served them their Christmas dinner.

As recompense, the whole company stood before her and her husband and raised their voices in song. They being non-conformist, their songs were the mighty hymns penned by Mr. Wesley and the like, and she felt goosebumps upon her arms at the power and beauty of their voices. For the Welsh sang as they spoke, with the tongue of angels

Each family went home with a gift of food, Amilyn pressing a thruppence into each child’s hand. Dopheld, twinkling mischievously at her, trumped her by giving silver sixpence. 

She witnessed the Yule log being dragged in Christmas Eve and placed on the firedogs decorated with the heads of ferocious snarling dragons in the great medieval hearth, receiving the burning brand from last year’s Yule with great ceremony. Taking the tongs and placing it on the kindling beneath it, she watched it catch with great satisfaction and not a little trepidation.

Her husband then said it was also the custom of the lady of the house to bestow upon the master a lovely kiss. She was sure it wasn’t, but obliged, the household going about its business with glad smiles after.

The season was also a time for entertaining their neighbours, but Dopheld insisted she rest and trust in Jennings, for the precious cargo she carried embodied all Gower’s hope for the future.

The festivities over, a period of relative calm prevailed and then came Easter and with it a visit from Poe.

Poe had absented himself from the wedding, riding to visit friends in Surrey and not returning until after they had left London. He could not cease to regret Amilyn, picking it over, a constant, open sore. Finally he succumbed and accepted Dopheld’s invitation to spend Easter week with them.

Amilyn he found perfectly indifferent to him, able to speak with him as with any of Dopheld’s friends. Able to look into his eyes without the least consciousness, to bear his company without awkward remembrance. In short, she was over him. This did not suit him at all.

He was able to have private speech with her, shortly before his visit came to an end.

She met his opening gambit with a hard stare and these words.

“I do hope, Poe, you are not going to embarrass yourself by profession of some especial regard for me. We both know you are incapable of such sustained, deep feeling. If you wish to make me uncomfortable to feed your own ego, I assure you, you will not succeed and I beg you will not try.”

He reeled back at such forthright speech. Shocked she had so easily divined his motive.

She continued. “Some years ago, you were almost able to persuade me your regard was worth having, and thereby rendered me most unhappy. I beg you will not try the same trick now. I am immune you see and must make complaint to my husband if you prove impertinent - as I ought have done to Lord Holdo when first you played off your tricks.”

He began to stutter out that this was not so - she had misunderstood him entirely.

She looked at him coldly, “I think not, but have it so, if you wish.”

There was nothing left for him to do. He bowed and begged her pardon, excusing himself. He searched out Dopheld and made excuses to cut his visit short. Dopheld, looking upon him and marking his shaken appearance and the loss of his customary urbanity, merely mouthed the customary platitudes and let him go.

Amilyn, gazing out to sea from the turret where flew the pennant of Saint David above her, felt her furs being slid over her shoulders. Then her husband’s arms slid around her expanding form, his breath warm on her neck as he placed a kiss there.

“Are you well, my lady?”

“I am well, my lord.”

They continued to gaze out on the glittering expanse before them, each with their own thoughts. The breeze shifted, coming now from the east. She shivered.

“Come, come inside, lady. Sit before the fire and warm yourself.”

He took her hand, carefully guiding her steps down the winding stone stairs of the tower. He made it his business to guide her steps evermore. 

Poe never visited them again and Dopheld let the friendship die.


End file.
